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RUDYARD  KIPLING 


BARRACK-ROOtt 


CONTENTS. 


PRELUDE       

I  have  eaten  your  bread  and  salt, 


GENERAL  SUMMARY 11 

We  are  very  slightly  changed 

DANNY  DEEVER 13 

"  What  are  the  bugles  blowin'  for?" 

ARMY  HEADQUARTERS        16 

Ahasuerus  Jenkins  of  the  "Operatic 
Own" 

A  LEGEND  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE  ..        19 
Rustum  Beg  of  Kolazai — 

THE  STORY  OF  URIAH         22 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta 

THE  POST  THAT  FITTED  ' 24 

Ere  the  steamer  bore  him  Eastward, 

DELILAH        27 

Delilah  Aberyswith  was  a  lady — 


ii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

PINK  DOMINOES 31 

Jenny  and  Me  were  engaged,  you  see, 

THE  MAN  WHO  COULD  WRITE  ..        ..        34 
Boanerges   Blitzen,    servant   of    the 
Queen 

MUNICIPAL 37 

It  was   an  August  evening,  and  in 
snowy  garment  clad, 

A  CODE  OF  MORALS 40 

Now  Jones  had  left  his  new- wed  bride 

"TOMMY" ..        44 

I  went  into  a  public-'ouse  to  get  a  pint 
o'  beer, 

"  FUZZY-WUZZY "         47 

We've  fought  with  many  men  acrost 
the  seas, 

OONTS! 50 

Wot  makes  the  soldier's  'eartto  penk, 

LOOT      54 

If  you've  ever  stole  a  pheasant-egg 

SOLDIER,  SOLDIER        58 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

THE  SONS  OF  THE  WIDOW          ..        ..        61 
'Ave    you  'eard   o'  the   Widow    at 
Windsor 


CONTENTS.  ill 

PAGE 

TROOPIN'       64 

Troopin',  troopin',  troopin'  to  the  sea  : 

GUNGA  DIN 67 

You  may  talk  o'  gin  an'  beer 

MANDALAY 72 

By  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda, 

THE  YOUNG  BRITISH  SOLDIER  ..        ..        76 
When  the  'arf-made  recruity  goes  out 
to  the  East 

^CREW-GUNS         81 

Smokin'  my  pipe  on  the  mountings, 

BELTS 85 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street 

TO  THE  UNKNOWN  GODDESS      ..        ..        89 
Will  you  conquer  my  heart  with  your 
beauty  ; 

LA  NUIT  BLANCHE       91 

I  had  seen,  as  dawn  was  breaking 

MY  RIVAL 95 

I  go  to  concert,  party,  ball — 

THE  LOVERS'  LITANY          98 

Eyes  of  gray — a  sodden  quay, 

A  BALLAD  OF  BURIAL         100 

If  down  here  I  chance  to  die, 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

DIVIDED  DESTINIES 103 

It  was  an  artless  Bandar, 

THE  MASQUE  OF  PLENTY 106 

"How  sweet  is  the  shepherd's  sweet 
life! 

THE  MARE'S  NEST        114 

Jane  Austen  Beecher  Stowe  de  Rouse 

CHRISTMAS  IN  INDIA 117 

Dim  dawn  behind  the  tamarisks — 

PAGETT,  M.  P J21 

Pagett,  M.  P. ,  was  a  liar, 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  WOMEN         ..        ..       <24 
How  shall  she  know  the  worship  we 
would  do  her  ? 

BALLAD  OF  FISHER'S  BOARDING-HOUSE  128 
'Twas  Fultah  Fisher's  Boarding-house 

"AS  THE  BELL  CLINKS." 133 

As  I  left  the  Halls^at  Lumley, 

AN  OLD  SONG       137 

So  long  as  'neath  the  Kalka  hills 

CERTAIN  MAXIMS  OF  HAFIZ      ..        ..      140 
If  it  be  pleasant  to  look  on, 

THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  HEAD       146 
There  's  a  widow  in  sleepy  Chester 


CONTENTS.  V 

PAGE 

THE  OVERLAND  MAIL         150 

In  the  name  of  the  Empress  of  India, 

WHAT  THE  PEOPLE  SAID 153 

By  the  well,  where  the  bullocks  go 

THE  UNDERTAKER'S  HORSE       ..        ..      156 
The  eldest  son  bestrides  him 

ARITHMETIC  ON  THE  FRONTIER        ..      159 
A  great  and  glorious  thing  it  is 

ONE  VICEROY  RESIGNS       161 

So  here  's  your  Empire. 

THE  BETROTHED          172 

Open  the  old  cigar-box 

A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES      177 

Where   the  sober-colored   cultivator 
smiles 

GRIFFEN'S  DEBT 181 

Imprimis  he  was  "broke." 

THE  GALLEY-SLAVE 185 

Oh,  gallant  was  our  galley 

THE  EXPLANATION 189 

Love  and  Death  once   ceased  their 
etrife 

THE  CONUNDRUM  OF  THE  WORKSHOPS   190 

When  the  flush  of  a  new-born  sun  fell 
first 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  GIFT  OF  THE  SEA 193 

The  dead  child  lay  in  the  shroud, 

EVARRA  AND  HIS  GODS 197 

Read  here,  This  is  the  story  of  Evarra 

PUBLIC  WASTE 202 

By  the  Laws  of  the  Family  Circle 

THE  LAST  DEPARTMENT 205 

"None  whole  or  clean," 

POSSIBILITIES 207 

Ay,  lay  him  'neath  the  Simla  pine — 

IN  SPRINGTIME 209 

My  garden  blazes  orightly 

A  BALLADE  OF  JAKKO  HILL.     ..        .<      211 
One  moment  bid  the  horses  wait, 

THE  PLEA  OF  THE  SIMLA  DANCERS.      213 
"  What  have  we  ever  done  to  bear  this 
grudge?" 

TWO  MONTHS— In  June 216 

No  hope,  no  change  !  The  clouds  have 
shut  us  in 

TWO  MONTHS— In  September 218 

At  dawn  there  was  a  murmur  in  the 
trees. 

THE  MOON  OF  OTHER  DAYS 219 

Beneatli  the  deep  verandah's  shade 


CONTENTS.  vii 

PAGE 

THE  FALL  OF  JOCK  GILLESPIE.          ..      221 
This  fell  when  dinner-time  was  done 

THE  RTJPAIYAT  OF  OMIR  KAL'VIN    ..      224 
Now  the  New  Year  reviving  last  year's 
debt 

WHAT  HAPPENED 227 

Hurree  Chunder  Mookerjee,  pride  of 
the  Bow  Bazar 

STUDY  OF  AN  ELEVATION  IN  INDIAN  INK  232 
Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E.,  Stands  at  the 
top  of  the  tree 

THE  VAMPIRE 234 

A  fool  there  was,  and  he  made  hie 
prayer 

RECESSIONAL 237 

God  of  our  fathers,  known  of  old. 

L'ENVOI 239 

The  smoke  upon  your  altar  dies. 


/  HA  VE  eaten  your  bread  and  salt, 
I  have  drunk  your  water  and  wine, 

The  deaths  ye  died  I  have  watched  beside. 
And  the  lives  that  ye  led  were  mine. 

Was  there  aught  that  I  did  not  share 

In  vigil  or  toil  or  ease, — 
One  joy  or  woe  that  I  did  not  know, 

Dear  hearts  across  the  seas  f 

I  have  written  the  tale  of  our  life 
For  a  sheltered  people's  mirth, 

fn  jesting  guise — but  ye  are  wise, 
And  ye  know  what  the  jest  is  worth. 


General  Summary. 

WE  are  very  slightly  changed 
From  the  semi-apes  who  ranged 

India's  prehistoric  clay ; 
Whoso  drew  the  longest  bow, 
Ran  his  brother  down,  you  know, 

As  we  run  men  down  to-day. 

u  Dowb,"  the  first  of  all  his  race, 
Met  the  Mammoth  face  to  face 

On  the  lake  or  in  the  cave, 
Stole  the  steadiest  canoe, 
Ate  the  quarry  others  slew, 

Died — and  took  the  finest  grave. 

When  they  scratched  the  reindeer-bone, 
Some  one  made  the  sketch  his  own, 

Filched  it  from  the  artist — then, 
Even  in  those  early  days, 
Won  a  simple  Viceroy's  praise 

Through  the  toil  of  other  men. 

(11) 


12  BALLADS. 

Ere  they  hewed  the  Sphinx's  visage 
^Favoritism  governed  kissage, 
Even  as  it  does  in  this  age. 

Who  shall  doubt  the  secret  hid 
Under  Cheops'  pyramid 
Was  that  the  contractor  did 

Cheops  out  of  several  millions  ? 
•Or  that  Joseph's  sudden  rise 
"To  Comptroller  of  Supplies 
Was  a  fraud  of  monstrous  size 

On  King  Pharaoh's  swart  Civilians? 

Thus,  the  artless  songs  I  sing 
Do  not  deal  with  anything 

New  or  never  said  before. 
As  it  was  in  the  beginning, 
Is  to-day  official  sinning, 

And  shall  be  for  evermore. 


Danny  Deever. 

"  WHAT  are  the  bugles  bio  win'  for  ?"  said 

Files-on-Parade. 
"To  turn  you  out,  to  turn  you  out,"  the 

Color-Sergeant  said. 
*'  What  makes  you  look  so  white,  so  white  ?" 

said  Files-on-Parade. 

44  I'm  dreadin'  what  I've  got  to  watch,  "the 

Color-Sergeant  said. 

For  they're  hangin'  Danny   Deever, 

you  can  'ear  the  Dead  March  play, 

The    regiment's    in   'ollow    square — 

they're  hangin'  him  to-day  ; 
They've  taken  of  his  buttons  off  an' 

cut  his  stripes  away, 
An'  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in 
the  mornin'. 

"  What  makes  the  rear-rank  breathe  so  'ard?" 
said  Files-on-Parade. 

"  It's  bitter  cold,  it's  bitter  cold,"  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 

"What    makes    that    front-rank  man    fall 
down  ?"  said  Files-on-Parade. 

(13) 


14  BALLADS. 

"  A  touch  of  sun,  a  touch  of  sun,"  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 

They  are  hangin'  Danny  Deever,  they 

are  marchin'  of  'im  round, 
They  'ave  'alted  Danny  Deever  by  'is 

coffin  on  the  ground ; 
An'  'e'll  swing  in  'arf  a  minute  for  a 

sneakin',  shootin'  hound — 
0  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in 

the  mornin' ! 

"'Is  cot  was  right- 'and  cot  to  mine,"  said 

Files-on-Parade. 

"  'E's  sleepin'  out  an'  far  to-night,"  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 
*'  I've  drunk  'is  beer  a  score  o'  times,"  said 

Files-on-Parade. 

"  'E's  drinkin'  bitter  beer  alone,"  the  Color- 
Sergeant  said. 

They  are  hangin'  Danny  Deever,  you 

must  mark  'im  to  'is  place, 
For  'e  shot  a  comrade  sleepin' — you 

must  look  'im  in  the  face ; 
Nine   'undred  of  'is    county  an'  the 

regiment's  disgrace, 
While  they're  hangin'  Danny  Deever 
in  the  mornin'. 


DEEVER.  15 


"  What's  that  so  black  agin  the  sun  ?"  said 

Files-on-Parade. 
"  It's  Danny  fightin'  'ard  for  life,"  the  Color- 

Sergeant  said. 
"  What's  that  that  whimpers  over'ead  ?"  said 

Files-on-Parade. 

"It's  Danny's  soul  that's  passin'  now,"  the 
Color-Sergeant  said. 

For  they're  done  with  Danny  Deever, 

you  can  'ear  the  quickstep  play, 
The  regiment's  in  column,  an'  they're 

marchin'  us  away  ; 
Ho  !  the  young  recruits  are  shakin', 

an'  they'll  want  their  beer  to-day, 
After  hangin'  Danny  Deever  in  the 
mornin'. 


Army  Headquarters. 

OLD  is  the  song  that  I  sing — 

Old  as  my  unpaid  bills — 
Old  as  the  chicken  that  kitmutgars  bring 

Men  at  dak-bungalows—old  as  the  Hills. 

AHASUERUS  JENKINS  of  the  "  Operatic 

Own  " 
Was  dowered  with  a  tenor  voice  of  super- 

Santley  tone. 
His  views  on  equitation  were,  perhaps,  a 

trifle  queer ; 
He  had  no  seat  worth  mentioning,  but  oh  I 

he  had  an  ear. 

He  clubbed  his  Avretched  company  a  dozen 

times  a  day, 
He  used  to  quit  his  charger  in  a  parabolic 

way, 
His  method  of  saluting  was  the  joy  of  all 

beholders, 
But  Ahasuerus  Jenkins  had  a  head  upon  his 

shoulders. 
He  took  two  months  to  Simla  when  the  year 

was  at  the  spring, 
(  16) 


ARMY  HEADQUARTERS.  17 

And  underneath  the  deodars  eternally  did 

sing. 

He  warbled  like  a  bulbul,  but  particularly  at 
Cornelia  Agrippina  who  was  musical  and 

fat. 

She  controlled  a  humble  husband,  who,  in 
turn,  controlled  a  Dept., 

Where  Cornelia  Agrippina's  human  singing- 
birds  were  kept 

From  April  to  October  on  a  plump  retaining 
fee, 

Supplied,  of  course,  per  mensem,  by  the  In- 
dian Treasury. 

Cornelia  used  to  sing  with  him,  and  Jenkins 
used  to  play  • 

He  praised  unblushingly  her  notes,  for  he 
was  false  as  they : 

So  when  the  winds  of  April  turned  the  bud- 
ding roses  brown, 

Cornelia  told  her  husband: — ''Tom,  you 
mustn't  send  him  down." 

They  haled  him  from  his  regiment   which 

didn't  much  regret  him  ; 
They  found  for  him  an  office-stool,  and  on 

that  stool  they  set  him, 
2 


18  BALLADS. 

To  play  with  maps  and  catalogues  three  idle* 

hours  a  day, 
And  draw  his  plump  retaining  fee — which 

means  his  double  pay. 

Now,  ever  after  dinner,  when  the  coffee-cups 

are  brought, 

Ahasuerus  waileth  o'er  the  grand  pianoforte ; 
And,  thanks  to  fair  Cornelia,  his  fame  hath 

waxen  great, 
And  Ahasuerus  Jenkins  is  a  power  in  the 

State. 


A  Legend  of  the  Foreign  Office. 

THIS  is  the  reason  why  Rustum  Beg, 

Rajah  of  Kolazai, 
Drlnketh  the  "  simpkin  "  and  brandy  peg, 

Maketh  the  money  to  fly, 
Vexeth  a  Government,  tender  and  kind, 
Also— but  this  is  a  detail— blind. 

RUSTUM  BEG  of  Kolazai— slightly  back- 
ward native  State — 

Lusted  for  a  C.  S.  I., — so  began  to  sanitate. 

Built  a  Jail  and  Hospital — nearly  built  a 
City  drain — 

Till  his  faithful  subjects  all  thought  their 
ruler  was  insane. 


Strange  departures  made  he  then — yea,  De- 
partments stranger  still, 

Half  a  dozen  Englishmen  helped  the  Rajah 
•  with  a  will, 

Talked  of  noble  aims  and  high,  hinted  of  a 
future  fine 

For  the  state  of  Kolazai,  on  a  strictly  West- 
ern line. 

(19) 


20  BALLADS. 

Rajah    Rustum    held    his  peace;    lowered 

octroi  dues  a  half; 
Organized    a    State    Police;    purified     the 

Civil  Staff; 
Settled  cess  and  tax  afresh  in  a  very  liberal 

way; 
Cut  temptations  of  the  .flesh — also  cut  the 

Bukhshi's  pay; 

Roused  his  Secretariat  to  a  fine  Mahratta 
fury, 

By  a  Hookum  hinting  at  supervision  of 
dasturi  ; 

Turned  the  State  of  Kolazai  very  nearly  up- 
side down ; 

When  the  end  of  May  was  nigh,  waited  his 
achievement  crown. 

Then  the  Birthday  Honors  came.  Sad  to 
state  and  sad  to  see, 

Stood  against  the  Rajah's  name  nothing 
more  than  C.  I.  E.  ! 


Things  were  lively  for  a  week  in  the  State 
of  Kolazai. 

Even  now  the  people  speak  of  that  time  re- 
gretfully. 


A  LEGEND  OF  THE  FOREIGN  OFFICE:      21 

How  he  disendowed  the  Jail — stopped    at 

once  the  City  drain ; 
Turned  to  beauty  fair  and   frail — got  his 

senses  back  again ; 
Doubled  taxes,  cesses,  all ;  cleared  away  each 

new-built  thana; 
Turned  the  two-lakh  Hospital  into  a  superb 

Zenana  ; 

Heaped  upon  the  Bukhshi  Sahib  wealth  and 

honors  manifold ; 
Clad  himself  in  Eastern  garb — squeezed  his 

people  as  of  old. 
Happy,  happy  Kolazail    Never  more  will 

Rustum  Beg 
Play  to  catch  the  Viceroy's  eye.    He  prefers 

the  "  simpkin  "  peg. 


The  Story  of  Uriah. 

"  Now  there  were  two  men  in  one  city ;  the  one  rich  ana 
the  other  poor." 

JACK  BARRETT  went  to  Quetta. 

Because  they  told  him  to. 
He  left  his  wife  at  Simla 

On  three-fourths  his  monthly  strew : 
Jack  Barrett  died  at  Quetta 

Ere  the  next  month's  pay  he  drew. 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta. 

He  didn't  understand 
The  reason  of  his  transfer 

From  the  pleasant  mountain-land : 
The  season  was  September, 

And  it  killed  him  out  of  hand. 

Jack  Barrett  went  to  Quetta, 

And  there  gave  up  the  ghost, 
Attempting  two  men's  duty 

In  that  very  healthy  post  ; 
And  Mrs.  Barrett  mourned  for  him 

Five  lively  months  at  most. 
(  22) 


THE  STORY  OF  URIAH.  23 

Jack  Barrett's  bones  at  Quetta 

Enjoy  profound  repose; 
But  I  shouldn't  be  astonished 

If  now  his  spirit  knows 
The  reason  of  his  transfer 

From  the  Himalayan  snows. 

And,  when  the  Last  Great  Bugle  Call 

Adown  the  Hurnai  throbs, 
When  the  last  grim  joke  is  entered 

In  the  big  black  Book  of  Jobs, 
And  Quetta  graveyards  give  again 

Their  victims  to  the  air, 
I  shouldn't  like  to  be  the  man 

Who  sent  Jack  Barrett  there. 


The  Post  that  Fitted. 

THOUGH  tangled  and  twisted  the  course  of  true  love, 

This  ditty  explains 
No  tangle's  so  tangled  it  cannot  improve 

If  the  Lover  has  brains. 

ERE  the  steamer  bore  him  Eastward,  Sleary 

was  engaged  to  marry 
An  attractive  girl  at  Tunbridge,  whom  he 

called  "my  little  Carrie,." 
Sleary's  pay  was  very  modest ;  Sleary  was 

the  other  way. 
Who  can  cook  a  two-plate  dinner  on  eight 

paltry  dibs  a  day? 

Long  he  pondered  o'er  the  question  in  his 

scantly-furnished  quarters — 
Then  proposed  to  Minnie  Boff kin,  eldest  of 

Judge  Boffkin's  daughters. 
Certainly  an  impecunious  Subaltern  was  not 

a  catch, 
But  the  Boff  kins  knew  that  Minnie  mightn't 

make  another  match. 
(24) 


THE  POST  THAT  FITTED.  25 

So  they  recognized  the  business,  and,  to  feed 
and  clothe  the  bride, 

Got  him  made  a  Something  Something  some- 
where on  the  Bombay  side. 

Anyhow,  the  billet  carried  pay  enough  for 
him  to  marry — 

As  the  artless  Sleary  put  it: — "Just  the 
thing  for  me  and  Carrie." 


Did  he,  therefore,  jilt  Miss  Boffkin — im- 
pulse of  a  baser  mind  ? 

No !  He  started  epileptic  fits  of  an  appall- 
ing kind. 

(Of  his  modus  operandi  only  this  much  I 
could  gather : — 

"Pears'  shaving  sticks  will  give  you  little 
taste  and  lots  of  lather. ") 


Frequently  in  public  places  his  affliction 
used  to  smite 

Sleary  with  distressing  vigor — always  in  the 
Boffkins'  sight. 

Ere  a  week  was  over  Minnie  weepingly  re- 
turned his  ring, 

Told  him  his  "  unhappy  weakness  "  stopped 
all  thought  of  marrying. 


26  BALLADS. 

Sleary  bore  the  information  with  a  chastened 

holy  joy,— 

Epileptic  fits  don't  matter  in  Political  em- 
ploy- 
Wired  three  short  words  to  Carrie — took  his 

ticket,  packed  his  kit — 
Bade  farewell  to  Minnie  Boff  kin  in  one  last, 
long,  lingering  fit. 

Four  weeks  later,  Carrie  Sleary  read — and 

laughed  until  she  wept — 
Mrs.     Boffkin's     warning     letter    on     the 

"  wretched  epilept." 
Year  by  year,  in  pious  patience,  vengeful 

Mrs.  Boffkin  sits 
Waiting  for  the  Sleary  babies  to  develop 

Sleary's  fits. 


Delilah. 

WE  have  another  Viceroy  now,  those  days  are  dead  and  done, 
Of  Delilah  Aberyswith  and  depraved  Ulysses  Gunne. 

DELILAH  ABERYSWITH  was  a  lady— 
not  too  young — 

With  a  perfect  taste  in  dresses,  and  a  badly- 
bitted  tongue, 

With  a  thirst  for  information,  and  a  greater 
thirst  for  praise, 

And  a  little  house  in  Simla,  in  the  Prehis- 
toric Days. 

By  reason  of  her  marriage  to  a  gentleman 

in  power, 
Delilah  was  acquainted  with  the  gossip  of 

the  hour ; 
And  many  little  secrets,  of  a  half-official 

kind, 
Were  whispered  to  Delilah,  and  she  bore 

them  all  in  mind. 

She  patronized  extensively  a  man,  Ulysses 

Gunne, 
Whose  mode  of  earning  money  was  a  low 

and  shameful  one. 

(27) 


28  BALLADS. 

He  wrote  for  divers  papers,  which,  as  every- 
body knows, 

Is  worse  than  serving  in  a  shop  or  scaring 
off  the  crows. 

He  praised  her  u  queenly  beauty  "  first;  and, 
later  on,  he  hinted 

At  the  "  vastness  of  her  intellect "  with  com- 
pliment unstinted. 

He  went  with  her  a-riding,  and  his  love  for 
her  was  such 

That  he  lent  her  all  his  horses,  and — she 
galled  them  very  much. 

One  day,  THEY  brewed  a  secret  of  a  fine  finan- 
cial sort ; 

It  related  to  Appointments,  to  a  Man  and  a 
Report 

'Twas  almost  worth  the  keeping  (only  seven 
people  knew  it), 

And  Gunne  rose  up  to  seek  the  truth  and 
patiently  pursue  it. 

It  was  a  Viceroy's  Secret,  but — perhaps  the 

wine  was  red — 
Perhaps  an  aged  Councillor  had  lost  his  aged 

head — 


DELILAH.  29' 

Perhaps  Delilah's  eyes  were  bright — Delilah's 
whispers  sweet — 

The  Aged  Member  told  her  what  'twere  trea- 
son to  repeat. 

Ulysses  went  a-riding,  and  they  talked  of 

love  and  flowers ; 
Ulysses  went  a-calling,  and  he  called  for 

several  hours ; 
Ulysses  went  a-waltzing,  and  Delilah  helped 

him  dance — 
Ulysses  let  the  waltzes  go,  and  waited  for  his  • 

chance. 

The  summer  sun  was  setting,  and  the  sum- 
mer air  was  still, 

The  couple  went  a-walking  in  the  shade  of 
Summer  Hill, 

The  wasteful  sunset  faded  out  in  turkis-green 
and  gold, 

Ulysses  pleaded  softly,  and  .  . .  that  bad 
Delilah  told ! 

Next  morn,  a  startled  Empire  learnt  the  all- 
important  news ; 

Next  week,  the  Aged  Councillor  was  shak 
ing  in  his  shoes ; 


30  BALLADS. 

Next  month,  I  met  Delilah,  and  she  did  not 

show  the  least 
Hesitation  in  affirming  that  Ulysses  was  a 

"beast." 

We  have  another  Viceroy  now,  those  days 

are  dead  and  done, 
Of   Delilah    Aberyswith  and    most    mean 

Ulysses  Gunne  I 


Pink  Dominoes. 

"  THEY  are  fools  who  kiss  and  tell " 

Wisely  has  the  poet  sung. 
Man  may  hold  all  sorts  of  posts 
If  he'll  only  hold  his  tongue. 

JENNY  and  Me  were  engaged,  you  see, 

On  the  eve  of  the  Fancy  Ball ; 
So  a  kiss  or  two  was  nothing  to  you 

Or  any  one  else  at  all. 

Jenny  would  go  in  a  domino — 

Pretty  and  pink  but  warm  ; 
While  I  attended,  clad  in  a  splendid 

Austrian  uniform. 

Now  we  had  arranged,  through  notes  ex« 
changed 

Early  that  afternoon, 
At  Number  Four  to  waltz  no  more, 

But  to  sit  in  the  dusk  and  spoon. 

(I  wish  you  to  see  that  Jenny  and  Me 
Had  barely  exchanged  our  troth ; 

Bo  a  kiss  or  two  was  strictly  due 
By,  from,  and  between  us  both.) 

(31) 


•32  BALLADS. 

When  Three  was  over,  an  eager  lover, 
•     I  fled  to  the  gloom  outside ; 
And  a  Domino  came  out  also 
Whom  I  took  for  my  future  bride. 

That  is  to  say,  in  a  casual  way, 
I  slipped  my  arm  around  her ; 

With  a  kiss  or  two  (which  is  nothing  to  you), 
And  ready  to  kiss  I  found  her. 

She  turned  her  head,  and  the  name  she  said 

Was  certainly  not  my  own ; 
But  ere  I  could  speak,  with  a  smothered 
shriek 

She  fled  and  left  me  alone. 

Then  Jenny  came,  and  I  saw  with  shame 

She'd  doffed  her  domino  ; 
And  I  had  embraced  an  alien  waist — 

But  I  did  not  tell  her  so. 

Next  morn  I  knew  that  there  were  two 

Dominoes  pink,  and  one 
Had  cloaked  the  spouse  of  Sir  Julian  Vouse, 

Our  big  political  gun. 


PINK  DOMINOES.  3S 

Sir  J.  was  old,  and  her  hair  was  gold, 
And  her  eye  was  a  blue  cerulean ; 

And  the  name  she  said  when  she  turned  her 

head 
Was  not  in  the  least  like  "  Julian." 

Now  wasn't  it  nice,  when  want  of  pice 

Forbade  us  twain  to  marry, 
That  old  Sir  J.,  in  the  kindest  way. 

Made  me  his  Secxetarry  f 


The  Man  who  could  Write. 

SHUN— shun  the  Bowl!    That  fatal,  facile  drink 
Has  ruined  many  geese  who  dipped  their  quills  in't ; 

Bribe,  murder,  marry,  but  steer  clear  of  Ink 
Save  when  you  write  receipts  for  paid-up  bills  in't. 

There  may  be  silver  in  the  "  blue-black  "—all 

I  know  of  is  the  iron  and  the  gall. 

BOANERGES    BLITZEN,   servant  of  the 

Queen, 

Is  a  dismal  failure — is  a  Might-have-been. 
In  a  luckless  moment  he  discovered  men 
Rise  to  high  position  through  a  ready  pen. 

Boanerges  Blitzen  argued,  therefore :  "  I 
With  the   selfsame  weapon    can   attain  as 

high." 
Only  he  did  not  possess,  when  he  made  the 

trial, 
Wicked  wit  of  C-lv-n,  irony  of  L 1. 

(Men  who  spar  with  Government  need,  to 

back  their  blows, 
Something  more  than  ordinary  journalistic 

prose.) 
(34) 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULD  WRITE.  35 

Never  'young  Civilian's  prospects  were    so 

bright, 
Till  an  Indian  paper  found  that  he  could 

write ; 
Never  young  Civilian's  prospects  were  so 

dark,  ' 
When  the  wretched  Blitzen  wrote  to  make 

his  mark. 

Certainly  r  e  scored  it.  bold  and  black  ana 

firm, 
In  that   Indian  paper — made  his    seniors 

squirm, 
Quoted  office  scandals,  wrote  the    tactless 

truth — 
Was  there  ever  known  a  more  misguided 

youth  ? 

When  the  rag  he  wrote  for  praised  his  plucky 

game, 

Boanerges  Blitzen  felt  that  this  was  Fame; 
When  the  men  he  wrote  of  shook  their  heads 

and  swore, 
Boanerges  Blitzen  only  wrote  the  more. 

Posed  as  Young  Ithuriel,  resolute  and  grim, 
Till  he  found   promotion  didn't    come   to 
him; 


36  BALLADS. 

Till  he  found  that  reprimands  weekly  were 

his  lot, 
And  his  many  Districts  curiously  hot 

Till  he  found  his  furlough  strangely  hard  to 

win, 

Boanerges  Blitzen  didn't  care  a  pin  : 
Then  it  seemed  to  dawn  on  him  something 

wasn't  right — 
Boanerges  Blitzen  put  it  down  to  "spite." 

Languished  in  a  District  desolate  and  dry  ; 
Watched  the  Local  Government  yearly  pass 

him  by ; 
Wondered  where  the  hitch  was;  called  it 

most  unfair. 

That  was  seven  years  ago — and  he  still  ia 
there. 


Municipal. 

*  WHY  is  my  District  death-rate  lowf 

Said  Binks  of  Hezabad. 
"  Welle,  drains,  and  sewage-outfalls  are 

My  own  peculiar  fad. 
I  learnt  a  lesson  once.    It  ran 
Thus,"  quoth  that  most  veracious  man  :— 

IT  was  an  August  evening,  and,  in  snowy 
garments  clad, 

I  paid  a  round  of  visits  in  the  lines  of  Heza- 
bad; 

When,  presently,  my  Waler  saw,  and  did 
not  like  at  all, 

A  Commissariat  Elephant  careering  dcwn 
the  Mall. 

I  couldn't  see  the  driver,  and  across  my 
mind  it  rushed 

That  the  Commissariat  elephant  had  sud- 
denly gone  musth, 

I  didn't  care  to  meet  him,  and  I  couldn't 
well  get  down, 

So  I  let  the  Waler  have  it  and  we  headed  for 
the  town. 

(37) 


38  BALLADS. 

The  buggy  was  a  new  one,  and,  praise 
Dykes,  it  stood  the  strain, 

Till  the  Waler  jumped  a  bullock  just  above 
the  City  Drain , 

And  the  next  that  I  remember  was  a  hurri- 
cane of  squeals, 

And  the  creature  making  toothpicks  of  my 
five-foot  patent  wheels. 

He  seemed  to  want  the  owner,  so  I  fled,  dis- 
traught with  fear, 

To  the  Main  Drain  sewage-outfall  while  he 
snorted  in  my  ear — 

Reached  the  four-foot  drain-head  safely, 
and,  in  darkness  and  despair, 

Felt  the  brute's  proboscis  fingering  my  ter- 
ror-stiffened hair. 


Heard  it  trumpet  on  my  shoulder — tried  to 

crawl  a  little  higher — 
Found    the     Main     Drain    sewage-outfall 

blocked,  some  eight  feet  up,  with  mire ; 
And,  for  twenty  reeking  minutes,  Sir,  my 

very  marrow  froze, 
While  the  trunk  was  feeling  blindly  for  a 

purchase  on  my  toes ! 


MUNICIPAL.  39 

It  missed  me  by  a  fraction,  but  my  hair  was 

turning  gray 
Before    they    called    the    drivers    up    and 

dragged  the  brute  away. 
Then  I   sought  the   City   Elders,  and  my 

words  were  very  plain. 
They  flushed  that  four-foot  drain-head,  and 

— it  never  choked  again. 

You  may  hold  with  surface- drainage,  and 

the  sun  for  garbage-cure, 
Till  you've  been  a    periwinkle    shrinking 

coyly  up  a  sewer. 

I  believe  in  well-flushed  culverts  .... 
This  is  why  the  death-rate's  small ; 
And,  if  you  don't  believe  me,  get  shikarred 

yourself.     That's  all. 


A  Code  of  Morals. 


LEST  you  should  think  this  story  true, 

I  merely  mention  I 
Evolved  it  lately.    'Tis  a  most 

Unmitigated  misstatement. 


NOW  Jones  had  left  his  new-wed  bride  to 

keep  his  house  in  order, 
And  hied  away  to  the  Hurrum  Hills  above 

the  Afghan  border, 
To  sit  on  a  rock  with  a  heliograph  ;  but  ere 

he  left  he  taught 
His  wife  the  working  of  the  Code  that  sets 

the  miles  at  naught. 

And  Love  had  made  him  very  sage,  as  Na- 
ture made  her  fair ; 

So  Cupid  and  Apollo  linked,  per  heliograph, 
the  pair. 

At    dawn,   across    the  Hurrum    Hills,   he 
flashed  her  counsel  wise — 

At  e'en,  the  dying  sunset  bore  her  husband's 
homilies. 
(40) 


A  CODE  OF  MORALS.  41 

He  warned  her  'gainst  seductive  youths  in 
scarlet  clad  and  gold, 

As  much  as  'gainst  the  blandishments  pa- 
ternal of  the  old ; 

But  kept  his  gravest  warnings  for  (hereby 
the  ditty  hangs) 

That  snowy-haired  Lothario,  Lieutenant- 
General  Bangs. 


'Twas  General  Bangs,  with  Aide  and  Staff, 
that  tittupped  on  the  way, 

When  they  beheld  a  heliograph  tempestu- 
ously at  play ; 

They  thought  of  Border  risings,  and  of  sta- 
tions sacked  and  burnt — 

So  stopped  to  take  the  message  down — and 
this  is  what  they  learnt : — 

"  Dash  dot  dot,  dot,  dot  dash,  dot  dash  dot" 

twice.    The  General  swore. 
"Was    ever   General  Officer    addressed  as 

'  dear'  before? 
'My  Love,' i'  faith!  'My  Duck,' Gadsooks! 

'  My  darling  popsy-wop !' 
Spirit  of  great  Lord  Wolseley,  who  is  on  that 

mountain  top?" 


42  BALLADS. 

The   artless   Aide-de-camp  was  mute;  the 

gilded  Staff  were  still, 
As,  dumb  with  pent-up  mirth,  they  booked 

that  message  from  the  hill ; 
For,  clear  as  summer's  lightning  flare,  the 

husband's  warning  ran : 
"  Don't  dance  or  ride  with  General  Bangs — 

a  most  immoral  man." 


(At  dawn,  across    the    Hurrum    Hills,  he 

flashed  her  counsel  wise — 
But,  howsoever  Love  be  blind,  the  world  at 

large  hath  eyes.) 
With    damnatory  dot  and  dash    he  helio- 

graphed  his  wife 
Some    interesting  details   of  the  General's 

private  life. 

The  artless  Aide-de-camp    was   mute;  the 

shining  Staff  were  still, 
And  red  and  ever  redder  grew  the  General's 

shaven  gill. 
And  this  is  what  he  said  at  last  (his  feelings 

matter  not)  : — 
"  I  think  we've  tapped  a  private  line.     Hi  1 

Threes  about  there !     Trot !" 


A  CODE  OF  MORALS.  43 

All  honor  unto  Bangs,  for  ne'er  did  Jones 

thereafter  know 
By  word  or  act  official  who  read  of  that 

helio. ; 
But  the  tale  is  on  the  Frontier,  and  from 

Michni  to  Mooltaw 
They  know  the  worthy  General  as   "  that 

most  immoral  man." 


"  Tommy." 

I  WENT  into  a  public-'ouse  to  get  a  pint  o; 

beer, 
The  publican  'e  up  an'  sez,  "  We  serve  no 

redcoats  here." 
The  girls  be'ind  the  bar  they  laughed  an' 

giggled  fit  to  die, 

I  outs  into  the  street  again,  an'  to  myself 
sez  I: 

0  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that,  an' 

"  Tommy  go  away ;" 
But  it's  "Thank  you,  Mister  Atkins," 

when  the  band  begins  to  play, 
The  band  begins  to  play,  my  boys,  the 

band  begins  to  play, 
0  it's  "  Thank    you,    Mister    Atkins," 
when  the  band  begins  to  play. 

I  went  into  a  theatre  as  sober  as  could  be, 
They  give  a  drunk  civilian  room,  but  'adn't 

none  for  me ; 
They  sent  me  to  the  gallery  or  round  the 

music- 'alls, 
But  when  it  comes  to  fightin',  Lord  !  they'll 

shove  me  in  the  stalls. 
(44) 


"TOMMY."  45 

For  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that, 
an'  "  Tommy  wait  outside ;" 

But  it's  "  Special  train  for  Atkins,"  when 
the  trooper's  on  the  tide, 

The  troopship's  on  the  tide,  my  boys, 
etc. 


0  makin'  mock  o'  uniforms  that  guard  yon 

while  you  sleep 
Is  cheaper  than  them  uniforms,  an'  they're 

starvation  cheap , 
An'  hustlin'  drunken  sodgers  when  they're 

goin'  large  a  bit 

Is  five  times  better  business  than  paradin* 
in  full  kitv 
Then  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that, 

an'  "Tommy,  'ow's  yer  soul?" 
But  it's  "  Thin  red  line  of  'eroes  "  when 

the  drums  begin  to  roll, 
The  drums  begin  to  roll,  my  boys,  etc, 


We  aren't  no  thin  red  'eroes,  ndr  we  aren't 
no  blackguards  too, 

But  single  men  in  barricks,  most  remarka- 
ble like  you ;  , 


46  BALLADS. 

An'  if  sometimes  our  conduck  isn't  all  your 

fancy  paints, 

Why,  single  men  in  barricks  don't  grow  into 
plaster  saints. 

While  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that, 

an'  "  Tommy  fall  be'ind;" 
But  it's  "  Please  to  walk  in  front,  sir," 

when  there's  trouble  in  the  wind, 
There's  trouble  in  the  wind,  my  boys, 
etc. 

You  talk  o'  better  food  for  us,  an'  schools, 

an'  fires,  an'  all : 
We'll  wait  for  extry  rations  if  you  treat  us 

rational. 
Don't  mess  about  the  cook-room  slops,  but 

prove  it  to  our  face 

The  Widow's  uniform  is  not  the  soldier- 
man's  disgrace. 

For  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that, 

an'  "  Chuck  him  out,  the  brute!" 
But  it's  "  Saviour  of  'is  country  "  when 

the  guns  begin  to  shoot ; 
An'  it's  Tommy  this,  an'  Tommy  that, 

an'  anything  you  please ; 
An'  Tommy  ain't  a  bloomin'  fool — you 
bet  that  Tommy  sees  I 


"  Fuzzy-  Wuzzy.'* 

(Soudan  Expeditionary  Force.) 

WE'VE  fought  with  many  men  acrost  the 

seas, 
An'  some  of  'em  was  brave  an'  some  was 

not: 

The  Paythan  an'  the  Zulu  an'  Burmese  ; 
But  the  Fuzzy  was  the  finest  o'  the  lot. 
We  never  got  a  ha'porth's  change  of  'im  : 
'E  squatted  in  the  scrub  arx'  'ocked  our 

'orses, 

'E  cut  our  sentries  up  at  SuaHm, 
An'  'e  played  the  cat  an'  banjo  with  our 
forces. 

So  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  at  your 

'ome  in  the  Sowdan  ; 
You're  a  poor  benighted  'eathen  but  a 

first-class  fightin'  man ; 
We  gives  you  your  certifikit,  and  if 

you  want  it  signed 

We'll  come  an'  'ave  a  romp  with  you 
whenever  you're  inclined. 

(47) 


48  BALLADS. 

We  took  our  chanst  among  the  Kyber  hills, 

The  Boers  knocked  us  silly  at  a  mile, 
The  Burman  guv  us  Irriwaddy  chills, 

An'  a  Zulu  impi  dished  us  up  in  style ; 
But  all  we  ever  got  from  such  as  they 

Was  pop  to  what  the  Fuzzy  made  us  swal- 

ler; 

We  'eld  our  bloomin'  own,  the  papers  say, 
But  man  for  man  the  Fuzzy  knocked  us 
'oiler. 
Then  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  an' 

the  missis  and  the  kid  ; 
Our  orders  was  to  break  you,  an'  of 

course  we  went  an'  did. 
We  sloshed  you  with  Martinis,  an'  it 

wasn't  'ardly  fair ; 

But  for  all  the  odds  agin  you,  Fuzzy- 
Wuz,  you  bruk  the  square. 

*E  'asn't  got  no  papers  of  'is  own, 

'E  'asn't  got  no  medals  nor  rewards, 
So  we  must  certify  the  skill  'e's  shown 

In  usin'  of  'is  long  two-'anded  swords ; 
When  'e's  'oppin'  in  an'  out  among  the  bush 

With   'is  coffin-'eaded  shield  an*  shovel- 
spear, 
A  'appy  day  with  Fuzzy  on  the  rush 

Will  last  a  'ealthy  Tommy  for  a  year. 


"  FUZZY-  WUZZY."  4% 

So   'ere's  to  you,   Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  an* 

your  friends  which  is  no  more, 
If  we  'adn't  lost  some  messmates  we 

would  'elp  you  to  deplore; 
But  give  an'  take's  the  gospel,  an' 

we'll  call  the  bargain  fair, 
For  if  you  'ave  lost  more  than  us, 

you  crumpled  up  the  square ! 

'E  rushes  at  the  smoke  when  we  let  drive, 
An',  before  we  know,  'e's  'ackin'  at  our 

'ead ; 

'E's  all  'ot  sand  an'  ginger  when  alive, 
An'   'e's    generally    shammin'  when    Vs 

dead. 
'E's  a  daisy,  'e's  a  ducky,  'e's  a  lamb ! 

'E's  a  injia-rubber  idiot  on  the  spree, 
'E's  the  on'y  thing  that  doesn't  care  a  damn 
For  the  Regiment  o'  British  Infantree. 
So  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy-Wuzzy,  at  your 

'ome  in  the  Sowdan ; 
You're  a  pore  benighted  'eathen  but  a 

first-class  .fightin'  man ; 
An'  'ere's  to  you,  Fuzzy-Fuzzy,  with 

your  'ayrick  'ead  of  'air — 
You  big  black  boundin'  beggar — for 
you  bruk  a  British  square. 
4 


Oonts  I 

(Northern  India  Transport  Train.) 

WOT  makes  the  soldier's  'eart  to  penk,  wot 
-  makes  'im  to  perspire  ? 
It  isn't  standin'  up  to  charge  or  lyin'  down 

to  fire ; 
But  it's  everlastin'  waitin'  on  a  everlastin' 

road 

For  the  commissariat  camel  an'  'is  commis- 
sariat load. 

0  the  oont,1  0  the  oont,  0  the  commissa- 
riat oont ! 
With    'is  silly  neck    a-bobbin'   like  a 

basket  full  o'  snakes  ; 
We  packs  'm  like  a  idol,  an'  you  ought 

to  'ear  'im  grunt, 

An'  when  we  gets  'im  loaded  up   'is 
blessed  girth-rope  breaks. 

"Wot  makes  the  rear-guard  swear  so   'ard 

when  night  is  drorin'  in, 
An'  every  native  follower  is  shiverin'  for  'is 

skin? 

1  Camel:  oo  is  pronounced  like  u  in  "bull."  but  by  Mr" 
Atkins  to  rhyme  with  "  front." 
(50) 


OONTS!  51 

It  ain't  the  chanst  o'  bein'  rushed  by  Pay- 

thans  frum  the  'ills, 

It's  the  commissariat   camel  puttin'  on  'is 
blessed  frills ! 

0  the  oont,  O  the  oont,  0  the  hairy  scary 

oont ! 
A-trippin'  over  tent-ropes   when   we've 

got  the  night  alarm ; 
We  socks  'im  with  a  stretcher-pole  an' 

'eads  'im  off  in  front, 
An'  when  we've  saved  'is  bloomin'  life 
'e  chaws  our  bloomin'  arm. 

The  'orse  'e  knows  above  a  bit,  the  bullock's 

but  a  fool, 

The  elephant's  a  gentleman,  the  baggage- 
mule's  a  mule ; 
But  the  commissariat  cam-u-el,  when  all  is 

said  an*  done, 

'E's  a  devil  an'  a  ostrich  an'  a  orphan-child 
in  one. 

0  the  oont,  0  the  oont,  0  the  Gawd-for- 
saken oont  I 
The  'umpy-lumpy  'ummin'-bird  a-sing- 

in'  where  'e  lies, 

'E's  blocked  the  'ole  division  from  the 
rear-guard  to  the  front, 


52  BALLADS. 

An'  when  we  gets  'im  up   again — the 
beggar  goes  an'  dies  ! 

'E'll  gall  an'  chafe  an'  lame  an'  fight;    'e 

smells  most  awful  vile ; 
*E'lllose  'imself  forever  if  you  let  'im  stray  a 

mile; 
*E's  game  to  graze  the  'ole  day  long  an'  'owl 

the  'ole  night  through, 
An'  when  'e  comes  to  greasy  ground  'e  splite 
'isself  in  two. 

O  the  oont,  0  the  oont,  0  the  floppin', 

droppin'  oont ! 
When,  'is  long  legs  give  from  under  an* 

'is  rneltin'  eye  is  dim, 
The  tribes  is  up  be'ind  us  an'  the  tribes 

is  out  in  front, 

It  ain't  no  jam  for  Tommy,  but  it's  kites 
and  crows  for  'im. 

So  when  the  cruel  march  is  done  an'  when 

the  roads  is  blind, 
An'  when  we  sees  the  camp  in  front  an'  'ears 

the  shots  be'ind, 
O  then  we  strips  'is  saddle  off,  and  all  'is  woes 

is  past: 
E  thinks  on  us  that  used  'im  so,  an'  gets 

revenge  at  last. 


OONTS!  53 

O  the  oont,  0  the  ooni,  O  the  floatin', 
bloatin'  oont ! 

The  late  lamented  camel  in  the  water- 
cut  he  lies ; 

We  keeps  a  mile  behind  'im  an'  we 
keeps  a  mile  in  front, 

But  'e  gets  into  the  drinkin'  casks,  and 
then  o'  course  we  dies. 


Loot. 

IF  you've  ever  stole  a  pheasant-egg  be'ind 

the  keeper's  back, 
If  you've  ever  snigged  the  washin'  frum 

the  line, 
If  you've  ever  crammed  a  gander  in  your 

bloomin'  'aversack, 
You   will   understand  this  little  song  o' 

mine. 
But  the  service  rules  are  'ard,  an'  frum  such 

we  are  debarred. 
For  the  same  with  British  morals  does  not 

suit  (Cornet:  Toot!  toot!) — 
W'y,  they  call  a  man  a  robber  if  'e  stuffs  'is 

marchin'  clobber 
With  the— 

(Chorus.')    Loo !    loo  !     Lulu !    luhi !    Loo ! 
loo!  Loot!  loot!  loot! 
'Ow  the  loot ! 
Bloomin'  loot  ! 
That's  the  thing  to  make  the  boys  git 

up  an'  shoot ! 
(54) 


LOOT.  55 

It's  the  same  with  dogs  an'  men, 
If  you'd  make  'em  come  again 
Clap   'em  forward  with  a  Loo !    loo ! 

Lulu!  Loot! 

Whoopee !  Tear  'im,  puppy  !  Loo!  loo  ! 
Lulu !     Loot !  loot !  loot ! 

If  you've  knocked  a  nigger  edgeways  when 

'e's  thrustin'  for  your  life, 
You  must  leave  'im  very  careful  where  'e 

fell; 
An'  may  thank  your  stars  an'  gaiters  if  you 

didn't  feel  'is  knife 
That  you  ain't  told  off  to  bury  him  as 

well. 
Then  the  sweatin'  Tommies  wonder  as  they 

spade  the  beggars  under 
Why  lootin'  should  be  entered  as  a  crime ; 
So  if  my  song  you'll  'ear,  I  will  learn  you 

plain  an'  clear 

'Ow  to  pay  yourself  for  fightin'  overtime. 
(CAorus.)     With  the  loot,  etc. 

Now  remember  when  you're  'acking  round 

a  gilded  Burma  god 

That  'is  eyes  is  very  often  precious  stones ; 
An'  if  you  treat  a  nigger  to  a  dose  o'  cleanin'- 

rod 


56  BALLADS. 

'E's  like  to  show  you  everything  'e  owns. 
When  'e  won't  prodooce  no  more,  pour  some 

water  on  the  floor 
Where  you  'ear  it  answer  'ollow  to  the 

boot  (Cornet:  Toot!  toot!) — 
When  the  ground  begins  to  sink,  shove  your 

baynick  down  the  chink, 
An'  you're  sure  to  touch  the — 
(Chorus.)    Loo!    loo!     Lulu!    Loot!    loot! 
loot! 

'Ow  the  loot,  etc. 

When  from  'ouse  to  'ouse  you're  'untin'  you 

must  always  work  in  pairs — 
It  'alves  the  gain,  but  safer  you  ,will  find — 
For  a  single  man  gits  bottled  on  them  twisty  - 

wisty  stairs, 
An'  a  woman  comes  and  clobs  'im  from 

be'ind. 
When  you've  turned  'em  inside  out,  an'  it 

seems  beyond  a  doubt 
As  if  there  weren't  enough  to  dust  a  flute 

(Cornet:  Toot!  toot!)— 
Before  you  sling  your  'ook,  at  the  'ouse-tops 

take  a  look, 

For  it's  underneath  the  tiles  they  'ide  the 
loot. 
(Chorus.)     'Ow  the  loot.  etc. 


LOOT.  07 

You  can  mostly  square  a  Sergint  an'  a  Quar- 
termaster too, 

If  you  only  take  the  proper  way  to  go ; 
/  could  never  keep  my  pickin's,  but  I've 

learned  you  all  I  knew — 
An'  don't  you  never  say  I  told  you  so. 
An'  now  I'll  bid  good-by,   for  I'm  gettin' 

rather  dry, 

An'  I  see  another  tunin'  up  to  toot  {Cor- 
net: Toot!  toot!)— 
So  'ere's  good-luck  to  those  that  wears  the 

Widow's  clo'es, 

An'  the  Devil  send  'em  all  they  want  o' 
loot! 

(Chorus.)    Yes,  the  loot, 

Bloomin'  loot. 
In  the  tunic  an'  the  mess-tin  an'  the 

boot! 

It's  the  same  with  dogs  an'  men, 
If  you'd  make  'em  come  again 
"Whoop  'em  forward  with  the  Loo  !  loo  ! 

Lulu  !  Loot !  loot !  loot ! 
Heeya  !   Sick  'im,  puppy  !    Loo  !    loo  ! 
Lulu !  Loot !  loot !  loot  ! 


Soldier,  Soldier. 

"  SOLDIER,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
Why  don't    you  march   with    my   true 

love?" 
"We're  fresh  from  off  the  ship,  an'    Vs 

maybe  give  the  slip, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 
New  love  !     True  love  ! 
Best  go  look  for  a  new  love, 
The  dead  they  cannot  rise,  an'  you'd  bet- 
ter dry  your  eyes, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love. 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
What  did  you  see  o'  my  true  love?" 

"  I  see  'im  serve  the  Queen  in  a  suit  o'  rifle- 
green, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

Did  ye  see  no  more  o'  my  true  love?" 
"  I  see  'im  runnin'  by  when  the  shots  begun 

to  fly- 
But  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 
(58) 


SOLDIER,  SOLDIER.  59 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
Did  aught  take  'arm  to  my  true  love?" 

"I  couldn't  see  the  fight,  for  the  smoke  it 

lay  so  white — 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
I'll  up  an'  tend  to  my  true  love  !" 

"  'E's  lying  on  the  dead  with  a  bullet  through 

'is  'ead, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

I'll  lie  down  and  die  with  my  true  love  !" 

"The  pit  we  dug'll  'ide  'im  an'  twenty  men 

beside  'im — 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 

Do  you  bring  no  sign  from  my  true  love?" 

"  I  bring  a  lock  of  'air  that  *e  allus  used  to 

wear, 
An'  you'd  best  go  look  for  a  new  love." 

"  Soldier,  soldier  come  from  the  wars, 
0  then  I  know  it's  true  I've  lost  my  true 
love !" 


60  BALLADS. 

u  An'  I  tell  you  truth  again — when  you've 

lost  the  feel  o'  pain 

You'd  best  take  me  for  your  true  love." 
True  love  I  New  love  1 
Best  take  'imfor  a  new  love. 
The  dead  they  cannot  rise,  an*  you'd 

better  dry  your  eyes, 
An?  you'd  best  take  'im  for  your  true  love* 


The  Sons  of  the  Widow. 

'AVE  you  'eard  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor 

With  a  hairy  gold  crown  on  'er  'ead  ? 
She  'as  ships  on  the  foam — she  'as  millions 

at  'ome, 
An'  she  pays  us  poor  beggars  in  red. 

(Ow,  poor  beggars  in  red  !) 
There's  'er  nick  on  the  cavalry  'orses 

There's  'er  mark  on  the  medical  stores — 
An'  'er  troopers  you'll  find  with  a  fair  wind 

be'ind 
That  takes  us  to  various  wars. 

(Poor  beggars! — barbarious  wars  !) 
Then    'ere's   to  the    Widow    at 

Windsor, 
An'  'ere's  to  the  stores  an'  the 

guns, 
The  men   an'   the    'orses    what 

makes  up  the  forces 
0'  Missis  Victorier's  sons. 
(Poor  beggars !— Victorier's  sons  !) 

(61  > 


62  BALLADS. 

Walk  wide  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor, 

For  'alf  o'  creation  she  owns : 
We  'ave  bought  'er  the  same  with  the  sword 

an'  the  flame, 

An  we've  salted  it  down  with  our  bones. 
(Poor    beggars ! — it's  blue  with  our 

bones  !) 

Hands  off  o'  the  sons  of  the  Widow, 
Hands  off  o'  the  goods  in  'er  shop, 
For  the    Kings  must   come  down  an'  the 

Emperors  frown 

When  the  Widow  at  Windsor  says  "  Stop!" 
(Poor   beggars ! — we're    sent   to    say 

"Stop!") 
Then  'ere's  to  the   Lodge  o'  the 

Widow, 
From  the  Pole  to  the  Tropics 

it  runs — 
To  the  Lodge  that  we  tile  with 

the  rank  an'  the  file, 
An'  open  in  forms    with    the 

guns. 

(Poor    beggars ! — it's    always    them 
guns !) 

We  'ave  'eard  o'  the  Widow  at  Windsor 
It's  safest  to  let  'er  alone :    • 


THE  SONS  OF  THE  WIDOW.  63 

For  'er  sentries  we  stand  by  the  sea  an*  the 

land 
Wherever  the  bugles,  are  blown. 

(Poor    beggars! — an'    don't    we    get 

blown !) 
Take  'old  o'  the  wings  o'  the  mornin', 

An'  flop  round  the  earth  till  you're  dead ; 
But  you  won't  get  away  from  the  tune  that 

they  play 
To 'the  bloomin'  old  rag  over'ead. 

(Poor  beggars  ! — it's  'ot  over'ead!) 
Then    'ere's  to  the   sons  o'  the 

Widow, 

Wherever,  'owever  they  roam. 
'Ere's  all  they  desire,  an'  if  they 

require 

A  speedy  return  to  their  'ome. 
(Poor    beggars ! — they'll    never    see 
'oine  1) 


Troopin'. 

(Our  Army  in  the  East.) 

TROOPIN',  troopin',  troopin'  to  the  sea : 
'Ere's  September  come  again — the  six-year 

men  are  free. 
O  leave  the  dead  be'ind  -us,  for  they  cannot 

come  away 

To  where  the  ship's  a-coalin'  up  that  takes 
us  'ome  to-day. 

We're  goin'  'ome,  we're  goin'  'ome, 

Our  ship  is  at  the  shore, 

An'  you  must  pack  your  'aversack, 

For  we  won't  come  back  no  more. 

Ho,  don't  you  grieve  for  me, 

My  lovely  Mary-Anne, 

For  I'll  marry  you  yit  on  a  fourp'n>  bit 

As  a  time-expired  man. 

The  Malabar's  in  'arbor  with  the  Ju^ner  at 

'er  tail, 
An'  the  time-expired's  waitin'  of  'is  orders 

for  to  sail. 
(64} 


65 

0  the  weary  waitin'  when  on  Khyber  'ills  we 

But  the  time-expired's  waitin'  of  'is  orders 
'ome  to-day. 

They'll  turn  us  out  at  Portsmouth  wharf  in 

cold  an'  wet  an'  rain, 
All  wearin'  Injian  cotton  kit,  but  we  will  not 

complain ; 
They'll  kill  us  of  pneumonia — for  that's  their 

little  way — 
But  damn  the  chills  and  fever,  men,  we're 

goin'  'ome  to-day ! 

Troopin',  troopin' — winter's  round  again  I 
See  the  new  drafs  pourin'  in  for  the  old 

campaign ; 
Ho,  you  poor  recruities,  but  you've  got  to 

earn  your  pay — 
What's  the  last  from  Lunnon,  lads  ?    We're 

goin'  there  to-day. 


Troopin',  troopin',  give  another  cheer — 
;Ere's  to  English  women  an'  a  quart  of  Eng- 
lish beer  ; 


66  BALLADS. 

The  Colonel  an'  the  regiment  an'  all  who've 

got  to  stay, 

Gawd's  mercy  strike  Jem  gentle — Whoop1 
we're  goin'  'ome  to-day. 

We're  goin'  'ome,  we're  goin'  'ome, 

Our  ship  is  at  the  shore, 

An'  you  must  pack  your  'aversack, 

For  we  won't  come  back  no  more. 

Ho,  don't  you  grieve  for  me, 

My  lovely  Mary-Anne, 

For  I'll  marry  you  yit  on  a  fourp'ny  bit 

As  a  time-expired  man. 


Gunga  Din. 

THE  bhisli,  or  water-carrier,  attached  to  regiments  in  India, 
is  often  one  of  the  most  devoted  of  the  Queen's  servants.  He 
is  also  appreciated  by  the  men. 

[THIS  BALLAD  IS  EXTENSIVELY  PLAGIARIZED.] 

YOU  may  talk  o'  gin  an'  beer 
When  you're  quartered  safe  out  'ere, 
An'  you're  sent  to  penny-fights  an'  Alder- 
shot  it ; 

But  if  it  comes  to  slaughter 
You  will  do  your  work  on  water, 
An'  you'll  lick  the  bloomin'  boots  of  'im 

that's  got  it. 

Now  in  Injia's  sunny  clime, 
Where  I  used  to  spend  my  time 
A-servin'  of  'Er  Majesty  the  Queen, 
Of  all  them  black-faced  crew 
The  finest  man  I  knew 
Was  our  regimental  bhisti,  Gunga  Din. 

He  was  "  Din !  Din !  Din ! 

You  limping  lump  o'  brick-dust,   Gunga 
Din! 

Hi !  slippy  hither ao  ! 

Water,  get  it !  Panee  lao  I1 

You  squidgy-nosed  old  idol,  Gunga  Din  I" 

1  Bring  water  swiftly. 

(67) 


<38  BALLADS. 

The  uniform  'e  wore 

Was  nothin'  much  before, 

An'  rather  less  than  'arf  o'  that  be'ind, 

For  a  twisty  piece  o'  rag 

An'  a  goatskin  water-bag 

Was  all  the  field-equipment  'e  could  find. 

When  the  sweatin'  troop-train  lay 

In  a  sidin'  through  the  day, 

Where  the  'eat  would  make  your  bloomin' 
eyebrows  crawl, 

We  shouted  "  Harry  By  I"1 

Till  our  throats  were  bricky-dry, 

Then  we  wopped  'im  'cause  'e  couldn't  serve 

us  all. 

It  was  "  Din  !  Din !  Din  I 
You  'eathen,  where  the  mischief  'ave  you 

been? 

You  put  some  juldee  in  it, 
Or  I'll  marrow  you  this  minute* 
If  you  don't  fill  up    my  hemlet,  Gunga 
Din !" 

'E  would  dot  'an  carry  one 
Till  the  longest  day  was  done, 


i  Mr.  Atkins's  equivalent  for  "  0  Brother  I" 
»  Hit  you. 


GUNGA  DIN.  69 

An*  'e  didn't  seem  to  know  the  use  o'  fear. 

If  we  charged  or  broke  or  cut, 

You  could  bet  your  bloomin'  nut, 

'E'd  be  waitin'  fifty  paces  right  flank  rear. 

With  'is  mussick  on  'is  back, 

'E  would  skip  with  our  attack, 

An'  watch  us  till  the  bugles  made  "  Retire;" 

An'  for  all  'is  dirty  'ide 

'E  was  white,  clear  white,  inside 

When  'e  went  to  tend  the  wounded  under 

fire! 

It  was  "  Din !  Din  !  Din !" 
With  the  bullets  kickin'  dust-spots  on  the 

green. 

When  the  cartridges  ran  out, 
You  could  'ear  the  front-files  shout: 
"Hi!      ammunition-mules     an'     Gunga 
Din !" 

I  sha'n't  forgit  the  night 

When  I  dropped  be'ind  the  fight 

With  a  bullet  where  my  belt-plate  should 

'a'  been. 

I  was  chokin'  mad  with  thirst, 
An'  the  man  that  spied  me  first 
Was  our  good  old  grinnin',  gruntin'  Gunga 

Din. 


70  BALLADS. 

'E  lifted  up  my  'ead, 
An'  'e  plugged  me  where  I  bled, 
An'  'e  guv  me  'arf-a-pint  o'  water — green : 
It  was  crawlin'  and  it  stunk, 
But  of  all  the  drinks  I've  drunk, 
I'm  gratefullest  to  one  from  Gunga  Din. 
It  was  "Din!  Din!  Din! 
'Ere's  a  beggar  with  a  bullet  through  'is 

spleen ; 
'E's  chawin'  up  the  ground  an'  Vs  kickin' 

all  around : 

J?or  Gawd's  sake  git  the  water,  Gunga 
Din !" 


'E  carried  me  away 

To  where  a  dooli  lay, 

An'  a  bullet  come  an'  drilled  the  beggar 
clean ; 

'E  put  me  safe  inside, 

An' just  before  'e  died, 

"  I  'ope  you  liked  your  drink,"  sez  Gunga 
Din. 

So  I'll  meet  'im  later  on 

In  the  place  where  'e  is  gone — 

Where  it's  always  double  drill  and  no  can- 
teen; 


GUNGA  DIN.  71 

'E'll  be  squattin'  on  the  coals 
Givin'  drink  to  pore  damned  souls, 
An'  I'll    get  a  swig  in  Hell  from    Gunga 
Din! 

Din  !  Din  !  Din  ! 

You  Lazarushian-leather  Gunga  Din  ! 
Tho'  I've  belted  you  an'  flayed  you, 
B}~  the  livin'  Gawd  that  made  you, 
You're  a  better  man  than  I  am,  Gunga 
Din! 


Mandaiay. 

BY  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  east- 
ward to  the  sea, 
There's  a  Burma  girl  a-settin',  an'  I  know 

she  thinks  o'  me ; 
For  the  wind  is  in  the  palm-trees,  an'  the 

temple-bells  they  say, 

"  Come  you  back,  you  British  soldier ;  come 
you  back  to  Mandaiay !" 

Come  you  back  to  Mandaiay, 

Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay ; 

Can't  you  'ear  their  paddles  chunkin* 

from  Rangoon  to  Mandaiay  ? 
0  the  road  to  Mandaiay, 
Where  the  flyin'-nshes  play, 
An'  the  dawn  comes  up  like  thunder 
outer  China  'crost  the  Bay ! 

'Er  petticut  was  yaller  an'  'er  little  cap  was 

green, 
An'   'er  name  was  Supi-yaw-lat— jes'    the 

same  as  Theebaw's  Queen, 
(72) 


VANDAL  AY.  73 

An'  I  seed  her  fast  a-smokin'  of  a  whackin' 

white  cheroot, 

An'  a-wastin'  Christian  kisses  on  an  'eathen 
idol's  foot: 

Bloomin'  idol  made  o'  mud — 

Wot  they  called  the  Great  Gawd  Budd — 

Plucky  lot  she  cared  for  idols  when  I 

kissed  'er  where  she  stud  ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay — 

When  the  mist  was  on  the  rice-fields  an'  the 

sun  was  droppin'  slow, 
She'd  git   'er  little  banjo    an'   she'd   sing 

"  Kvtta-lo-lo !" 
With  'er  arm  upon  my  shoulder  an'  her 

cheek  agin  my  cheek 

We  useter  watch  the  steamers  an'  the  hathis 
pilin'  teak. 

Elephints  a-pilin'  teak 

In  the  sludgy,  squdgy  creek, 

Where  the  silence  'ung  that  'eavy  you 

was  'arf  afraid  to  speak ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay — 

But  that's  all  shove  be'ind  me — long  ago  an' 

fur  away, 
An'  there  ain't  no  'buses  runnin'  from  the 

Benk  to  Mandalay ; 


74  BALLADS. 

An'  I'm  learnin'  'ere-  in  London  what  the 

ten-year  sodger  tells : 

"  If  you've  'card  the  East  a-callin',  why,  you 
won't  'eed  nothin'  else." 

No  !  you  won't  'eed  nothin'  else 

But  them  spicy  garlic  smells 

An'  the  sunshine  and  the  palm-trees  an* 

the  tinkly  temple-bells  ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay — 

I  am  sick  o'  wastin'  leather  on  these  gutty 

pavin' -stones, 
An'  the  blasted  Henglish  drizzle  wakes  the 

fever  in  my  bones  ; 
Tho'  I  walks  with  fifty   'ousemaids  outer 

Chelsea  to  the  Strand, 

An'  they  talks  a  lot  o'  lovin',  but  wot  do 
they  understand  ? 

Beefy  face  an'  grubby  'and — 

Law  !  wot  do  they  understand  ? 

I've    a  neater,  sweeter    maiden   in   a 

cleaner,  greener  land ! 
On  the  road  to  Mandalay — 

Ship  me  somewheres  east  of  Suez  where  the 

best  is  like  the  worst. 
Where  there  aren't  no  Ten  Commandments, 

an'  a  man  can  raise  a  thirst; 


MANDALAY.  75 

For  the  temple-bells  are  callin',  an'  it's  there 

that  I  would  be — 

By  the  old  Moulmein  Pagoda,  lookin'  lazy 
at  the  sea — 

On  the  road  to  Mandalay, 

Where  the  old  Flotilla  lay, 

With    our   sick   beneath  the   awnings 

when  we  went  to  Mandalay  ! 
Oh,  the  road  to  Mandalay, 
Where  the  flyin'-fishes  play, 
An'  the  dawn  comes  up  like  thunder 
outer  China  'crost  the  Bay 


The  Young  British  Soldier. 

WHEN  the  'arf-made  recruity  goes  out  to 

the  East 

'E  acts  like  a  babe  an'  'e  drinks  like  a  beast, 
An'  'e  wonders  because  'e  is  frequent  de- 
ceased 

Ere  'e's  fit  for  to  serve  as  a  soldier. 

Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 

Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 

Serve,  serve,  serve  as  a  soldier, 

So-oldier  hof  the  Queen  ! 

Now  all  you  recruities  what's  drafted  to-day, 
You  shut  up  your  rag-box  an'  'ark  to  my  lay, 
An'  I'll  sing  you  a  soldier  as  far  as  I  may : 
A  soldier  what's  fit  for  a  soldier. 
Fit,  fit,  fit  for  a  soldier — 

First,  mind  you  steer  clear  o'  the  grog-sellers' 

huts, 
For  they  sell  you  Fixed  Bay 'nets  that  rots 

o*z,t  vour 
(7o, 


THE  YOUNG  BRITISH  SOLDIER.  77 

A  drink  that  'ud  eat  the  live  steel  from  your 
butts — 

An'  it's  bad  for  the  young  British  soldier. 
Bad,  bad,  bad  for  the  soldier — 

When  the  cholera  comes — as  it  will  past  a 

doubt — 
Keep  out  of  the  wet  and  don't  go  on  the 

shout, 

For  the  sickness  comes  in  as  the  liquor  dies 
out, 

An'  it  crumples  the  young  British  soldier. 
Crum-,  crum-,  crumples  the  soldier — 

But  the  worst  o'  your  foes  is  the  sun  over'ead; 
You  must  wear  your  'elmet  for  all  that  is  said. 
If  'e  finds  you  uncovered  'e'll  knock  you 
down  dead, 

An'  you'll  die  like  a  fool  of  a  soldier. 
Fool,  fool,  fool  of  a  soldier — 

If  you're  cast  for  fatigue  by  a  sergeant  unkind, 
Don't  grouse  like  a  woman  nor  crack  on  nor 

blind ; 

Be  handy  and  civil,  and  then  you  will  find 
As  it's  beer  for  the  young  British  soldier. 
Beer,  beer,  beer  for  the  soldier — 


78  BALLADS. 

Now,  if  you  must  marry,  take  care  she  is  old — 
A  troop-sergeant's   widow's  the  nicest  I'm 

told— 

For  beauty  won't  help  if  your  vittles  is 
cold, 

An'  love  ain't  enough  for  a  soldier. 
'Nough,  'nough,  'nough  for  a  soldier— 


If  the  wife  should  go  wrong  with  a  comrade, 

be  loath 
To  shoot  when  you  catch  'em — you'll  swing, 

on  my  oath  ! — 

Make  'im  take  'er  and  keep  'er;  that's  hell 
for  them  both, 

An'  you're  quit  o'  the  curse  of  a  soldier. 
Curse,  curse,  curse  of  a  soldier — 


When  first  under  fire  an'  you're  wishful  to 

duck, 
Don't  look  or  take  'eed  at  the  man  that  is- 

struck, 

Be  thankful  you're  livin'  an'  trust  to  your 
luck, 

An'  march  to  your  front  like  a  soldier. 
Front,  front,  front  like  a  solder. 


THE  YOUXG  BRITISH  SOLDIER.  79 

When  'arf  of  }rour  bullets  fly  wide  in  the 

ditch, 
Don't  call  your  Martini   a  cross-eyed  old 

bitch ; 

She's  human  as  your  are — you  treat  her  as 
sich, 

An'  she'll  fight  for  the  young   British 

soldier. 
Fight,  fight,  fight  for  the  soldier — 

When  shakin'  their  bustles  like  ladies  so  fine 
The  guns  o'  the  enemy  wheel  into  line ; 
Shoot  low  at  the  limbers  and  don't  mind  the 
shine, 

For  noise  never  startles  the  soldier. 
Start-,  start-,  startles  the  soldier — 

If  your  officer's  dead  and  the  sergeants  look 

white, 

Remember  it's  ruin  to  run  from  a  fight ; 
So  take  open  order,  lie  down,  and  sit  tight, 
An'  wait  for  supports  like  a  soldier. 
Wait,  wait,  wait  like  a  soldier — 

When  you're  wounded  an'  left  on  Afghanis- 
tan's plains, 

An'  the  women  come  out  to  cut  up  your 
remains. 


80  BALLADS. 

Jest  roll  to  your  rifle  an'  blow   out  your 
brains, 

An'  go  to  your  Gawd  like  a  soldier: 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier, 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier, 
Go,  go,  go  like  a  soldier, 
So-oldier  hqf  the  Queen. 


Screw-Guns. 

SMOKIN'  my  pipe  on  the  mountings,  sniffin* 

the  mornin'-cool, 
I  walks  in  my  old  brown  gaiters  along  o'  my 

old  brown  mule, 
With  seventy  gunners  be'ind  me,  an'  never 

a  beggar  forgets 

It's  only  the  pick  o'  the  Army  that  handles 
the  dear  little  pets— Tss  !  Tss ! 

For  you   all  love  the  screw-guns — the 

screw-guns  they  all  love  you. 
So  when  we  call  round  with  a  few  guns, 
o'  course  you  will  know  what  to  do — 
hoo !  hoo! 
Jest  send  in  your  Chief  an'  surrender — 

it's  worse  if  you  fights  or  you  runs : 
You  can  go  where  you  please,  you  can 
skid  up  the  trees,  but  you  don't  get 
away  from  the  guns. 

They  send  us  along  where  the  roads  are,  but 
mostly  we  goes  where  they  ain't ; 

We'd  climb  up  the  side  of  a  sign-board,  an' 
trust  to  the  stick  o'  the  paint ; 

6  (81) 


82  BALLADS. 

We've  chivied  the  Naga  an'  Lushai,  we've 

give  the  Afreedeeman  fits, 
For  we  fancies  ourselves  at  two  thousand, 

we  guns  that  are  built  in  two  bits — Tss ! 

Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — 

If  a  man  doesn't  work,  why,  we  drills  'im 
an'  teaches  'im  'ow  to  be'ave; 

If  a  beggar  can't  march,  why,  we  kills  'im 
an'  rattles  'im  into  'is  grave. 

You've  got  to  stand  up  to  our  business  an' 
spring  without  snatchin'  or  fuss. 

D'  you  say  that  you  sweat  with  the  field- 
guns  ?  By  God,  you  must  lather  with  us — 
Tss!  Tss! 

For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — 

The    eagles    is    screamin'  around   us,   the 

river's  a-moanin'  below, 
We're  clear  o'  the  pine  an'  the  oak-scrub, 

we're  out  on  the  rocks  an'  the  snow, 
An'  the  wind  is  as  thin  as  a  whip-lash  what 

carries  away  to  the  plains 
The  rattle  an'  stamp  o'  the  lead-mules — the 

jinglety-jink  o'  the  chains — Tss  !  Tss ! 
For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — 


SCREW-GUNS.  83 

There's  a  wheel  on  the  Horns  o'  the  Mornin, 
an'  a  wheel  on  the  edge  o'  the  Pit, 

An'  a  drop  into  nothin'  beneath  us  as  straight 
as  a  beggar  can  spit ; 

With  the  sweat  runnia'  out  o'  your  shirt- 
sleeves an'  the  sun  off  the  snow  in  your 
face, 

An'  'arf  o'  the  men  on  the  drag-ropes  to 
hold  the  old  gun  in  'er  place — Tss !  Tss  ! 
For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — 

Smokin'  my  pipe  on  the  mountings,  sniffin' 

the  mornin'-cool, 
I  climbs  in  my  old  brown  gaiters  along  o' 

my  old  brown  mule. 
The  monkey  can  say  what  our  road  was — 

the  wild-goat  'e  knows  where  we  passed. 
Stand  easy,  you  long-eared  old    darlin's ! 

Out  drag-ropes  !      With  shrapnel !     Hold 

fast!— Tss!  Tss! 


For  you  all  love  the  screw-guns — the 
screw-guns  they  all  love  you  ! 

So  when  we  take  tea  with  a  few  guns, 
o'  course  you  will  know  what  to  do — 
hoo  !  hoo  ! 


84  BALLADS. 

Just  send  in  your  Chief  and  surrender — 
it's  worse  if  you  fights  or  you  runs : 

You  may  hide  in  the  caves,  they'll  be 
only  your  graves,  but  you  don't  get 
away  from  the  guns  ! 


Belts. 

THERE  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street  that's 

near  to  Dublin  Quay, 
Between  an  Irish  regiment  an'  English  cav- 

alree ; 
It  started  at  Revelly  an'  it  lasted   on   till 

dark; 

The  first  man  dropped  at  Harrison's,  the  last 
forninst  the  Park. 

For  it  was  "Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's 

one  for  you!'' 
An'  it  was  "  Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's 

done  for  you!" 
0  buckle  an'  tongue 
Was  the  song  that  we  sung 
From  Harrison's  on  to  the  Park  ! 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — the  regi- 
ments was  out, 

They  called  us  "  Delhi  Rebels,"  an'  we  an- 
swered "  Threes  about !" 

(85) 


86  BALLADS. 

That  drew  them  like  a  hornet's  nest — we 

met  them  good  an'  large, 
The  English  at  the  double  an'  the  Irish  at 

the  charge. 

Then  it  was  :  Belts — 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — an'  I  was 

in  it  too ; 
We  passed  the  time  o'  day,  an'  then  the  belts 

went  whirraru  ; 
I  misremember  what  occurred,  but  subse- 

quint  the  storm 
A  Freeman's  Journal  Supplemint  was  all  my 

uniform. 
0  it  was  :  Belts — 


There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — they  sent 
the  Polis  there, 

The  English  were  too  drunk  to  know,  the 
Irish  didn't  care ; 

But  when  they  grew  impertinent  we  simul- 
taneous rose, 

Till  half  o'  them  was  Liffey  mud  an'  half 
was  tatthered  clo'es. 
For  it  was  :  Belts — 


BELTS.  87 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — it  might 

ha'  raged  till  now, 
But  some  one  drew  his  side-arm  clear,  an' 

nobody  knew  how ; 
'Twas  Hogan  took  the  point  an'  dropped ; 

we  saw  the  red  blood  run  : 
An'  so  we  all  was  murderers  that  started  out 

in  fun. 

While  it  was  :  Belts — 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street— but  that 

took  off  the  shine, 
Wid  each  man  whishperin'  to  his  next : 

"  'Twas  never  work  o'  mine  !" 
We  went  away  like  beaten  dogs,  an'  down 

the  street  we  bore  him, 
The  poor  dumb  corpse  that  couldn't  see  the 

bhoys  were  sorry  for  him. 
When  it  was  :  Belts — 

There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — it  isn't 

over  yet, 
For  half  of  us  are  under  guard  wid  pun- 

ishmints  to  get ; " 

'Tis  all  a  mericle  to  me  as  in  the  Clink  I  lie ; 
There  was  a  row  in  Silver  Street — begod,  I 

wonder  why  !   , 


88  BALLADS. 

But  it  was  "Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's 

one  for  you !" 
An'  it  was  "  Belts,  belts,  belts,  an'  that's 

done  for  you !" 
0  buckle  an'  tongue 
Was  the  song  that  we  sung 
From  Harrison's  down  to  the  Park  1 


To  the  Unknown  Goddess. 

WILL  you  conquer  my  heart  with  your 
beauty ;  my  soul  going  out  from  afar? 

Shall  I  fall  to  your  hand  as  a  victim  of 
crafty  and  cautious  shikar  f 

Have  I  met  you  and  passed  you  already, 
unknowing,  unthinking,  arid  blind  ? 

Shall  I  meet  you  next  session  at  Simla,  0 
sweetest  and  best  of  your  kind  ? 

Does  the  P.  and  O.  bear  you  to  me-ward,  or, 
clad  in  short  frocks  in  the  West, 

Are  you  growing  the  charms  that  shall  cap- 
ture and  torture  the  heart  in  my  breast  ? 

Will  you  stay  in  the  Plains  till  September — 
my  passion  as  warm  as  the  day  ? 

Will  you  bring  me  to  book  on  the  Moun- 
tains, or  where  the  thermantidotes  play  ? 

When  the  light  of  your  eyes  shall  make 
pallid  the  mean  lesser  lights  I  pursue, 

And  the  charm  of  your  presence  shall  lure 
me  from  love  of  the  gay  ''  thirteen-two  ;" 

(89) 


90  BALLADS. 

When  the  peg  and  the  pig-skin  shall  please 
not;  when  I  buy  me  Calcutta-built 
clothes ; 

When  I  quit  the  Delight  of  Wild  Asses  ;  for- 
swearing the  swearing  of  oaths ; 

As  a  deer  to  the  hand  of  the  hunter  when  I 
turn  'mid  the  gibes  of  my  friends  ; 

When  the  days  of  my  freedom  are  num- 
bered, and  the  life  of  the  bachelor  ends. 

Ah  Goddess  !  child,  spinster,  or  widow — as 
of  old  on  Mars  Hill  when  they  raised 

To  the  God  that  they  knew  not  an  altar— so 
I,  a  young  Pagan,  have  praised 

The  Goddess  I  know  not  nor  worship ;  yet, 
if  half  that  men  tell  me  be  true, 

You  will  come  in  the  future,  and  therefore 
these  verses  are  written  to  you. 


La  Nuit  Blanche. 

A  MUCH-DISCERNING  Public  hold 
The  Singer  generally  sings 
Of  personal  and  private  things, 

And  prints  and  sells  his  past  for  gold. 

Whatever  I  may  here  disclaim, 
The  very  clever  folk  I  sing  to 
Will  most  Indubitably  cling  to 

Their  pet  delusion,  just  the  same. 

I  HAD  seen,  as  dawn  was  breaking 

And  I  staggered  to  my  rest, 
Tari  Devi  softly  shaking 

From  the  Cart  Road  to  the  crest. 
I  had  seen  the  spurs  of  Jakko 

Heave  and  quiver,  swell  and  sink. 
Was  it  Earthquake  or  tobacco. 

Day  of  Doom  or  Night  of  Drink  ? 

In  the  full,  fresh;  fragrant  morning 

I  observed  a  camel  crawl, 
Laws  of  gravitation  scorning, 

On  the  ceiling  and  the  wall ; 
Then  I  watched  a  fender  walking, 

And  I  heard  gray  leeches  sing, 
And  a  red-hot  monkey  talking 

Did  not  seem  the  proper  thing. 

(91) 


92  BALLADS. 

Then  a  Creature,  skinned  and  crimson, 

Ran  about  the  floor  and  cried, 
And  they  said  I  had  the  "  jims  "  on, 

And  they  dosed  me  with  bromide, 
And  they  locked  me  in  my  bedroom — 

Me  and  one  wee  Blood  Red  Mouse — 
Though  I  said :  "  To  give  my  head  room 

"  You  bad  best  unroof  the  house." 


But  my  words  were  all  unheeded, 

Though  I  told  the  grave  M.D. 
That  the  treatment  really  needed 

Was  a  dip  in  open  sea 
That  was  lapping  just  below  me, 

Smooth  as  silver,  white  as  snow, 
And  it  took  three  men  to  throw  me 

When  I  found  I  could  not  go. 

Half  the  night  I  watched  the  Heavens 

Fizz  like  '81  champagne — 
Fly  to  sixes  and  to  sevens, 

Wheel  and  thunder  back  again ; 
And  when  all  was  peace  and  order 

Save  one  planet  nailed  askew, 
Much  I  wept  because  my  warder 

Would  not  let  me  set  it  true. 


LA  SUIT  BLANCHE. 

After  frenzied  hours  of  waiting, 

When  the  Earth  and  Skies  were  dumb, 
Pealed  an  awful  voice  dictating 

An  interminable  sum, 
Changing  to  a  tangled  story — 

"  What  she  said  you  said  I  said — " 
Till  the  Moon  arose  in  glory, 

And  I  found  her  ...  in  my  head ; 


Then  a  Face  came  blind  and  weeping,. 

And  It  couldn't  wipe  Its  eyes, 
And  It  muttered  I  was  keeping 

Back  the  moonlight  from  the  skies ;, 
So  I  patted  it  for  pity, 

But  It  whistled  shrill  with  wrath, 
And  a  hugh  black  Devil  City 

Poured  its  peoples  on  my  path. 

So  I  fled  with  steps  uncertain 

On  a  thousand-year  long  race, 
But  the  bellying  of  the  curtain 

Kept  me  always  in  one  place ; 
While  the  tumult  rose  and  maddened: 

To  the  roar  of  Earth  on  fire, 
Ere  it  ebbed  and  sank  and  saddened 

To  a  whisper  tense  as  wire. 


94  BALLADS, 

In  intolerable  stillness 

Rose  one  little,  little  star, 
And  it  chuckled  at  my  illness, 

And  it  mocked  me  from  afar  ; 
And  its  brethren  came  and  eyed  me, 

Called  the  Universe  to  aid, 
Till  I  lay  with  naught  to  hide  me, 

'Neath  the  Scorn  of  All  Things  Made. 

Dun  and  saffron,  robed  and  splendid, 

Broke  the  solemn,  pitying  Day, 
And  I  knew  my  pains  were  ended, 

And  I  turned  and  tried  to  pray ; 
But  my  speech  was  shattered  wholly, 

And  I  wopt  as  children  weep, 
Till  the  dawn-wind,  softly,  slowly, 

Brought  to  burning  eyelids  sleep. 


My  Rival. 

I  GO  to  concert,  party,  ball — 

What  profit  is  in  these  ? 
I  sit  alone  against  the  wall 

And  strive  to  look  at  ease. 
The  incense  that  is  mine  by  right 

They  burn  before  Her  shrine ; 
And  that's  because  I'm  seventeen 

And  She  is  forty-nine. 

I  cannot  check  my  girlish  blush, 

My  color  comes  and  goes ; 
I  redden  to  my  finger-tips, 

And  sometimes  to  my  nose. 
But  she  is  white  where  white  should  be, 

And  red  where  red  should  shine. 
The  blush  that  flies  at  seventeen 

Is  fixed  at  forty-nine. 

I  wish  /  had  Her  constant  cheek : 

I  wish  that  I  could  sing 
All  sorts  of  funny  little  songs, 

Not  quite  the  proper  thing. 

(95) 


'96  BALLADS. 

I'm  very  gauche  and  very  shy, 

Her  jokes  aren't  in  my  line ; 
And,  worst  of  all,  I'm  seventeen 

While  She  is  forty-nine. 

The  young  men  come,  the  young  men  go, 

Each  pink  and  white  and  neat, 
She's  older  than  their  mothers,  but 

They  grovel  at  Her  feet. 
They  walk  beside  Her  'rickshaw  wheels — 

None  ever  walk  l>y  mine ; 
And  that's  because  I'm  seventeen 

And  She  is  forty -nine. 

She  rides  with  half  a  dozen  men, 

(She  calls  them  "  boys  "  and  "  mashers  ") 
I  trot  along  the  Mall  alone ; 

My  prettiest  frocks  and  sashes 
Don't  help  to  fill  my  programme-card, 

And  vainly  I  repine 
From  ten  to  two  A.M.     Ah  me ! 

Would  I  were  forty-nine ! 

She  calls  me  "  darling,"  "  pet,"  and  "  dear," 

And  "  sweet  retiring  maid." 
I'm  always  at  the  back,  I  know, 

She  puts  me  in  the  shade. 


MY  RIVAL.  9T 

She  introduces  me  to  men, 

"  Cast  "  Lovers,  I  opine, 
For  sixty  takes  to  seventeen, 

Nineteen  to  forty-nine. 

But  even  she  must  older  grow 

And  end  her  dancing  days, 
She  can't  go  on  forever  so 

At  concerts,  balls,  and  plays. 
One  ray  of  priceless  hope  I  see 

Before  my  footsteps  shine ; 
Just  think,  that  She'll  be  eighty-one 

When  I  am  forty-nine. 


The  Lovers'  Litany. 

EYES  of  gray — a  sodden  quay, 
Driving  rain  and  falling  tears, 
As  the  steamer  wears  to  sea 
In  a  parting  storm  of  cheers. 
Sing,  for  Faith  and  Hope  are  high- 
None  so  true  as  you  and  I — 
Sing  the  Lovers'  Litany : — 
"Love  like  ours  can  never  die  I" 

Eyes  of  black — a  throbbing  keel, 

Milky  foam  to  left  and  right ; 

Whispered  converse  near  the  wheel 

In  the  brilliant  tropic  night. 
Cross  that  rules  the  Southern  Sky ! 
Stars  that  sweep  and  wheel  and  fly, 
Hear  the  Lovers'  Litany : — 
"  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  /" 

Eyes  of  brown — a  dusty  plain 
Split  and  parched  with  heat  of  June, 
Flying  hoof  and  tightened  rein, 
Hearts  that  beat  the  old,  old  tune. 
(98) 


THE  LOVERS'  LITANY.  99 

Side  by  side  the  horses  fly, 
Frame  we  now  the  old  reply 
Of  the  Lovers'  Litany  : — 
"  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  /" 

Eyes  of  blue — the  Simla  Hills 
Silvered  with  the  moonlight  hoar; 
Pleading  of  the  waltz  that  thrills, 
Dies  nnd  echoes  round  Benmore. 

"Mabel,"  "Officers,""  Good-by," 

Glamour,  wine,  and  witchery— 

On  my  soul's  sincerity, 

"  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  /" 

Maidens,  of  your  charity, 
Pity  my  most  luckless  state. 
Four  times  Cupid's  debtor  I — 
Bankrupt  in  quadruplicate. 

Yet,  despite  this  evil  case, 

An  a  maiden  showed  me  grace, 

Four-and-forty  times  would  I 

Sing  the  Lovers'  Litany  : — 

"  Love  like  ours  can  never  die  !" 


A  Ballad  of  Burial. 

("  Saint  Praxcd's  ever  was  the  Church  for  peace."} 

IF  down  here  I  chance  to  die, 

Solemnly  I  beg  you  take 
All  that  is  left  of  "  I," 

To  the  Hills  for  old  sake's  sake. 
Pack  me  very  thoroughly 

In  the  ice  that  used  to  slake 
Pegs  I  drank  when  I  was  dry — 

This  observe  for  old  sake's  sake. 

To  the  railway  station  hie, 

There  a  single  ticket  take 
For  Umballa — goods-train — I 

Shall  not  mind  delay  or  shake. 
I  shall  rest  contentedly 

Spite  of  clamor  coolies  make; 
Thus  in  state  and  dignity 

Send  me  up  for  old  sake's  sake. 

Next  the  sleepy  Babu  wake, 
Book  a  Kalka  van  "  for  four." 

Few,  I  think,  will  care  to  make 
Journeys  with  me  any  more 
(100) 


A  BALLAD  OF  BURIAL.  101 

As  they  used  to  do  of  yore. 

I  shall  need  a  "  special ' '  break — 
Thing  I  never  took  before — 

Get  me  one  for  old  sake's  sake. 

After  that — arrangements  make. 

No  hotel  will  take  me  in, 
And  a  bullock's  back  would  break 

'Neath  the  teak  and  leaden  skin. 
Tonga  ropes  are  frail  and  thin, 

Or,  did  I  a  back-seat  take, 
In  a  tonga  I  might  spin, — 

Do  your  best  for  old  sake's  sake. 

After  that — your  work  is  done. 

Recollect  a  Padre  must 
Mourn  the  dear  departed  one — 

Throw  the  ashes  and  the  dust. 
Don't  go  down  at  once.     I  trust 

You  will  find  excuse  to  "  snake 
Three  days'  casual  on  the  bust," 

Get  your  fun  for  old  sake's  sake. 

I  could  never  stand  the  Plains. 

Think  of  blazing  June  and  May, 
Think  of  those  September  rains 

Yearly  till  the  Judgment  Day ! 


102  B ALL  ADS. 

I  should  never  rest  in  peace, 
I  should  sweat  and  lie  awake. 

Bail  me  then,  on  my  decease, 
To  the  Hills  for  old  sake's  sake. 


Divided  Destinies. 

IT  was  an  artless  Bandar,  and  he  danced 

upon  a  pine, 
And  much  I  wondered  how  he  lived,  and 

where  the  beast  might  dine, 
And  many,  many  other  things,  till,  o'er  my 

morning  smoke, 
I  slept  the  sleep  of  idleness  and  dreamt  that 

Bandar  spoke. 

He  said :    "  O  man  of  many  clothes  I    Sad 

crawler  on  the  Hills  ! 
Observe,   I  know  not  Ranken's  shop,  nor 

Ranken's  monthly  bills ; 
I  take  no  heed  to  trousers  or  the  coats  that 

you  call  dress ; 
Nor  am  I  plagued  with  little  cards  for  little 

drinks  at  Mess. 

"I  steal  the  bunnia's  grain  at  morn,  at  noon 

and  eventide, 
(For  he  is  fat  and  I  am  spare),  I  roam  the 

mountain  side, 

(103) 


104  BALLADS. 

I  follow  no  man's  carriage,'  and  no,  never  in 
my  life 

Have  I  flirted  at  Peliti's  with  another  Ban- 
dar's wife. 

"0  man  of  futile  fopperies — unnecessary 
wraps ; 

I  own  no  ponies  in  the  hills,  I  drive  no  tall- 
wheeled  traps ; 

I  buy  me  not  twelve-button  gloves, '  short- 
sixes  '  eke,  or  rings, 

Nor  do  I  waste  at  Hamilton's  my  wealth  on 
4  pretty  things.' 

u  I  quarrel  with  my  wife  at  home,  we  never 
fight  abroad ; 

But  Mrs.  B.  has  grasped  the  fact  I  am  her 
only  lord. 

I  never  heard  of  fever — dumps  nor  debts  de- 
press my  soul ; 

And  I  pity  and  despise  you  !"  Here  he 
pouched  my  breakfast-roll. 

His  hide  was  very  mangy,  and  his  face  was 
very  red, 

And  ever  and  anon  he  scratched  with  en- 
ergy his  head. 


'  DIVIDED  DESTINIES.  105 

His  manners  were  not  always  nice,  but  how 

my  spirit  cried 
To  be  an  artless  Bandcvr  loose  upon  the 

mountain  side ! 

So  I  answered :  "  Gentle  Bandar,  an  inscru- 
table Decree 

Makes  thee  a  gleesome  fleasome  Thou,  and 
me  a  wretched  Me. 

Go !  Depart  in  peace,  my  brother,  to  thy 
home  amid  the  pine ; 

Yet  forget  not  once  a  mortal  wished  to 
change  his  lot  with  thine." 


The  Masque  of  Plenty. 

ARGUMENT.— The  Indian  Government,  being  minded  to 
discover  the  economic  condition  of  their  lands,  sent  a  Com- 
mittee to  inquire  into  it ;  and  saw  that  it  was  good. 

SCENE. — The  wooded  heights  of  Simla.  The  In- 
carnation of  the  Government  of  India  in  the 
raiment  of  the  Angel  of  Plenty  sings,  to  piano- 
forte accompaniment : — 

"  HOW  sweet  is  the  shepherd's  sweet  life ! 

From  the  dawn  to  the  even  he  strays — 
He  shall  follow  his  sheep  all  the  day, 

And  his  tongue  shall  be  filled  with  praise 

(Adagio  dim.')  Filled  with  praise  !" 

(Largendo  con  sp.~)  Now  this  is  the  position, 
Go  make  an  inquisition 
Into  their  real  condition 
As  swiftly  as  ye  may. 

(p.)  Ay,  paint  our  swarthy  billions 
The  richest  of  vermilions 
Ere  two  well-led  cotillions 

Have  danced  themselves  away. 
(106) 


THE  MASQUE  OF  PLENTY.  107 

TURKISH  PATROL,  as  able  and  intelligent  Inves- 
tigators wind  down  the  Himalayas : — 

What  is  the  state,  of  the  Nation  ?    What  is 

its  occupation  ? 
Hi !  get  along,  get  along,  get  along — lend  us 

the  information ! 


(Dim.')  Census  the  byle  and  the  yabu — cap- 
ture a  first-class  Babu, 
Set  him  to  cut  Gazetteers — Gazetteers  .  .  . 
(Jf.)  What  is  the  state  of  the  Nation, 
etc.,  etc. 

INTERLUDE,  from  Nowhere  in   Particular,  to 
stringed  and  Oriental  instruments. 

Our  cattle  reel  beneath  the  yoke  they  bear— 
The  earth  is  iron,  and  the  skies  are  brass — 

And  faint  with  fervor  of  the  naming  air 
The  languid  hours  pass. 

The  well  is  dry  beneath  the  village  tree — 
The  young  wheat  withers  ere  it  reach  a 
span, 

And  belts  of  blinding  sand  show  cruelly 
Where  once  the  river  ran. 


108  BALLADS. 

Pray,  brothers,  pray,  but  to  no  earthly  King — 
Lift  up  your  hands  above  the  blighted 

grain, 
Look  westward — if  they  please,  the   Gods 

shall  bring 
Their  mercy  with  the  rain. 


Look  westward — bears  the  blue  no  brown 

cloud-bank  ? 
Nay,  it  is  written — wherefore  should  we 

fly? 

On  our  own  field  and  by  our  cattle's  flank 
Lie  down,  lie  down  to  die  ! 


SEMI-CHORUS. 

By  the  plumed  heads  of  Kings 
Waving  high, 

Where  the  tall  corn  springs 
O'er  the  dead. 


If  they  rust  or  rot  we  die, 

If  they  ripen  we  are  fed. 

Very  mighty  is  the  power  of  our  Kings ! 


THE  MASQUE  OF  PLENTY.  109 

Triumphal  return  to  Simla  of  the  Investigators, 
attired  after  the  manner  of  Dionysus,  lead- 
ing a  pet  tiger-cub  in  wreaths  of  rhubarb 
leaves,  symbolical  of  India  under  medical 
treatment.  They  sing : — 

We  have  seen,  we  have  written — behold  it, 
the  proof  of  our  manifold  toil ! 

In  their  hosts  they  assembled  and  told  it—- 
the tale  of  the  sons  of  the  soil. 

We  have  said  of  the  Sickness,  "Where  is 
it?"— and  of  Death,  "It  is  far  from  our 
ken;" 

We  have  paid  a  particular  visit  to  the  afflu- 
ent children  of  men. 

We  have  trodden  the  mart  and  the  well- 
curb — we  have  stooped  to  the  bield  and 
the  byre ; 

And  the  King  may  the  forces  of  Hell  curb, 
for  the  people  have  all  they  desire ! 

Castanets  and  step-dance: 

Oh,  the  dom  and  the  mag  and  the  thakur  and 
the  thag, 

And  the  not  and  the  brinjaree, 
And  the  bunnia  and  the  ryot  are  as  happy 
and  as  quiet 
And  as  plump  as  they  can  be ! 


110  BALLADS. 

Yes,  the  jam  and  the  jat  in  his  stucco-fronted 
hut, 

And  the  bounding  bazugar, 
By  the  favor  of  the  King,  are  as  fat  as  any- 
thing, 

They  are — they  are — they  are  ! 

RECITATIVE,  Government  of  India,  with  white 
satin  wings  and  electroplated  harp : — 

HOAV  beautiful  upon  the  mountains — in 
peace  reclining, 

Thus  to  be  assured  that  our  people  are  unani- 
mously dining. 

And  though  there  are  places  not  so  blessed 
as  others  in  natural  advantages,  which, 
after  all,  was  only  to  be  expected, 

Proud  and  glad  are  we  to  congratulate  you 
upon  the  work  you  have  thus  ably  effected. 

(CVes.)  How  be-ewtiful  upon  the  mountains  I 

HIRED  BAND,  brasses  only,  full  chorus : — 

God  bless  the  Squire 
And  all  his  rich  relations 
Who  teach  us  poor  people 
We  eat  our  proper  rations — 


THE  MASQUE  OF  PLENTY.  Ill 

We  eat  our  proper  rations, 

In  spite  of  inundations, 

Malarial  exhalations, 

And  casual  starvations, 
We  have,  we  have,  they  say  we  have— 
We  have  our  proper  rations  ! 

(Cornet.') 

Which  nobody  can  deny  ! 

If  he  does  he  tells  a  lie — 
We  are  all  as  willing  as  Barkis — 
We  all  of  us  loves  the  Markiss — 
We  all  of  us  stuffs  our  ca-ar-kis — 

With  food  until  we  die  !     (Da  capo.} 


CHORUS  OF  THE  CRYSTALLIZED  FACTS. 

Before  the  beginning  of  years 
There  came  to  the  rule  of  the  State 
Men  with  a  pair  of  shears, 
Men  with  an  Estimate — 
Strachey  with  Muir  for  leaven, 
Lytton  with  locks  that  fell, 
Ripo-n  fooling  with  Heaven, 
And  Temple  riding  like  H-ll ! 


BALLADS. 

And  the  bigots  took  in  hand 

Cess  and  the  falling  of  rain, 

And  the  measure  of  sifted  sand 

The  dealer  puts  in  the  grain — 

Imports  by  land  and  sea, 

To  uttermost  decimal  worth, 

And  registration — free — 

In  the  houses  of  death  and  of  birth : 

And  fashioned  with  pens  and  paper, 

And  fashioned  in  black  and  white, 

With  Life  for  a  flickering  taper 

And  Death  for  a  blazing  light — 

With  the  Armed  and  the  Civil  Power. 

That  his   strength  might  endure  for  a 

span, 

From  Adam's  Bridge  to  Peshawur, 
The  Much  Administered  man. 


In  the  towns  of  the  North  and  the  East, 
They  gathered  us  unto  rule, 
They  bade  him  starve  the  priest 
And  send  his  children  to  school. 
Railways  and  roads  they  wrought, 
For  the  needs  of  the  soil  within ; 
A  time  to  squabble  in  court, 
A  time  to  bear  and  to  grin. 


THE  MASQUE  OF  PLENTY. 


And  gave  him  peace  in  his  ways, 

Jails  —  and  Police  to  fight, 

Justice  at  length  of  days, 

And  Right—  and  Might  in  the  Right. 

His  speech  is  of  mortgaged  bedding, 

On  his  kine  he  borrows  yet, 

At  his  heart  is  his  daughter's  wedding, 

In  his  eye  foreknowledge  of  debt. 

He  eats  and  hath  indigestion, 

He  toils  and  he  may  not  stop  ; 

His  life  is  a  long-drawn  question 

Between  a  crop  and  a  crop. 


The  Mare's  Nest. 

JANE  Austen  Beecher  Stowe  de  Rouse 
Was  good  beyond  all  earthly  need ; 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  her  spouse 
Was  very,  very  bad  indeed. 

He  smoked  cigars,  called  churches  slow, 

And  raced — but  this  she  did  not  know. 


For  Belial  Machiavelli  kept 
The  little  fact  a  secret,  and, 

Though  o'er  his  minor  sins  she  wept, 
Jane  Austen  did  not  understand 

That  Lilly — thirteen-two  and  bay?— 

Absorbed  one-half  her  husband's  pay. 

She  was  so  good,  she  made  him  worse ; 

(Some  women  are  like  this,  I  think ;) 
He  taught  her  parrot  how  to  curse, 

Her  Assam  monkey  how  to  drink. 
He  vexed  her  righteous  soul  until 
She  went  up,  and  he  went  down  hill. 
(114) 


THE  HA  RE'S  NEST.  115 

Then  came  the  crisis,  strange  to  say, 
Which  turned  a  good  wife  to  a  better. 

A  telegraphic  peon,  one  day, 

Brought  her — now,  had  it  been  a  letter 

For  Belial  Machiavelli,  I 

Know  Jane  would  just  have  let  it  lie. 

But  'twas  a  telegram  instead, 

Marked  "  urgent,"  and  her  duty  plain 
To  open  it.     Jane  Austen  read : — 

"  Your  Lilly's  got  a  cough  again. 
Can't  understand  why  she  is  kept 
At  your  expense."    Jane  Austin  wept. 

It  was  a  misdirected  wire. 

Her  husband  was  at  Shaitanpore. 
She  spread  her  anger,  hot  as  fire, 

Through  six  thin  foreign  sheets  or  more, 
Sent  off  that  letter,  wrote  another 
To  her  solicitor — and  mother. 

Then  Belial  Machiavelli  saw 
Her  error  and,  I  trust,  his  own, 

Wired  to  the  minion  of  the  Law, 
And  travelled  wifeward — not  alone. 

For  Lilly — thirteen-two  and  bay — 

Came  in  a  horse-box  all  the  way. 


116  BALLADS. 

There  was  a  scene — a  weep  or  two — 
With  many  kisses.    Austen  Jane 

Bode  Lilly  all  the  season  through, 
And  never  opened  wires  again. 

She  races  now  with  Belial.    Thig 

Is  very  sad,  but  so  it  is. 


Christmas  in  India. 

DIM  dawn  behind  the  tamarisks — the  sky  is 

saffron-yellow — 
As  the  women  in  the  village  grind  the 

corn, 
And  the  parrots  seek  the  river-side,  each 

calling  to  his  fellow 
That  the  Day,  the  staring  Eastern  Day  is 

born. 
Oh  the  white  dust  on  the  highway  !  Oh 

the  stenches  in  the  byway ! 
Oh  the  clammy  fog  that  hovers  over 

earth ! 

And  at  Home  they're    making    merry 
'neath  the  white  and  scarlet  berry — 
What  part  have  India's  exiles  in  their 
mirth  ? 


Full  day  behind  the  tamarisks — the  sky  is 

blue  and  staring — 

As  the   cattle   crawl   afield  beneath    the 
yoke, 

(117) 


118  BALLADS. 

And  they  bear  One  o'er  the  field-path,  who 

is  past  all  hope  or  caring, 
To  the  ghat  helow  the  curling  wreaths  of 

smoke. 
Call  on  Rama,  going  slowly,  as  ye  bear 

a  brother  lowly — 
Call  on  Rama — he  may  hear,  perhaps, 

your  voice ! 
With  our  hymn-books  and  our  psalters 

we  appeal  to  other  altars, 
And  to-day  we  bid  "  good  Christian 
men  rejoice!" 

High  noon  behind  the  tamarisks — the  sun 

is  hot  above  us — 

As  at  Home  the  Christmas  Day  is  break- 
ing wan. 
They  will  drink  our  healths  at  dinner — those 

who  tell  us  how  they  love  us, 
And  forget  us  till  another  year  be  gone ! 
Oh  the  toil  that  needs  no  breaking!  Oh 

the  Heimweh,  ceaseless,  aching ! 
Oh  the  black  dividing  Sea  and  alien 

Plain ! 

Youth  was  cheap — wherefore  we  sold  it. 
Gold  was  good — we  hoped  to  hold  it, 
And  to-day  we  know  the  fulness  of 
our  gain. 


CHRISTMAS  IN  INDIA.  119 

Gray  dusk  behind  the  tamarisks — the  par- 
rots fly  together — 

As  the  sun  is  sinking  slowly  over  Home ; 
And  his  last  ray  seems  to  mock  us  shackled 

in  a  lifelong  tether 
That  drags  us   back   howe'er  so   far  we 

roam. 
Hard  her  service,  poor  her  payment — 

she  in  ancient,  tattered  raiment — 
India,  she  the  grim   Stepmother  of 

our  kind. 

If  a  year  of  life  be  lent  her,  if  her  tem- 
ple's shrine  we  enter, 
The  door  is  shut — we  may  not  look 
behind. 

Black  night  behind  the  tamarisks — the  owls 

begin  their  chorus — 
As  the  conches  from  the  temple  scream 

and  bray. 
With  the  fruitless  years  behind  us,  and  the 

hopeless  years  before  us, 
Let  us  honor,  0  my  brothers,  Christmas 

Day! 
Call  a  truce,  then,  to  our  labors — let  us 

feast  with  friends  and  neighbors, 
And  be  merry  as  the  custom  of  our 
caste ; 


120  BALLADS. 

t 
For  if  "  faint  and  forced  the  laughter," 

and  if  sadness  follow  after, 
We  are  richer  by  one  mocking  Christ- 
mas past* 


Pagett,  M.P. 

THE  toad  beneath  the  harrow  known 
Exactly  where  each  tooth-point  goes. 
The  butterfly  upon  the  road 
Preaches  contentment  to  that  toad. 

PAGETT,  M.P.,  was  a  liar,  and  a  fluent  liar 

therewith, — 
He  spoke  of  the  heat  of  India  as  the  "Asian 

Solar  Myth ;" 
Came  on  a  four  months'  visit,  to  "  study  the 

East,"  in  November, 
And  I  got  him  to  sign  an  agreement  vowing 

to  stay  till  September. 


March  came  in  with  the  kbil.    Pagett  was 

cool  and  gay, 
Called  me  a  "  bloated  Brahmin,"  talked  of 

my  "princely  pay." 
March  went  out  with  the  roses.    "  Where  is 

your  heat?"  said  he. 
"Coming,"  said   I  to   Pagett.    "Skittles!" 

said  Pagett,  M.P. 

(121) 


122  BALLADS. 

April  began  with  the  punkah,  coolies,  and 
prickly-heat, — 

Pagett  was  dear  to  mosquitoes,  sandflies 
found  him  a  treat. 

He  grew  speckled  and  lumpy — hammered, 
I  grieve  to  say, 

Aryan  brothers  who  fanned  him,  in  an  il- 
liberal way. 

May  set  in  with  a  dust-storm, — Pagett  went 

down  with  the  sun. 
All  the  delights  of  the  season  tickled  him 

one  by  one. 
Imprimis — ten    days'  "  liver  " — due    to    his 

drinking  beer ; 
Later,  a  dose  of  fever — slight,  but  he  called 

it  severe. 

i 

Dysent'ry  touched  him  in  June,  after  the 
Chota  Bursat — 

Lowered  his  portly  person — made  him  yearn 
to  depart. 

He  didn't  call  me  a  "Brahmin,"  or  "bloat- 
ed," or  "overpaid," 

But  seemed  to  think  it  a  wonder  that  any 
one  stayed. 


PAGETT,  M.P.  123 

July  was  a  trifle  unhealthy, — Pagett  was  ill 
with  fear, 

'Called  it  the  "  Cholera  Morbus,"  hinted  that 
life  was  dear. 

He  babbled  of  "Eastern  exile,"  and  men- 
tioned his  home  with  tears  ; 

But  I  hadn't  seen  my  children  for  close  upon 
seven  years. 

We  reached  a  hundred  and  twenty  once  in 

the  Court  at  noon, 
(I've  mentioned  Pagett  was  portly)  Pagett 

went  off  in  a  swoon. 
That  was  an  end  to  the  business  ;  Pagett,  the 

perjured,  fled 
With  a  practical,  working  knowledge  of 

"  Solar  Myths  "  in  his  head. 

And  I  laughed  as  I  drove  from  the  station, 

but  the  mirth  died  out  on  my  lips 
As  I  thought  of  the  fools  like  Pagett  who 

write  of  their  "  Eastern  trips," 
And  the  sneers  of  the  travelled  idiots  who 

duly  misgovern  the  land, 
And  I  prayed  to  the  Lord  to  deliver  another 

one  into  my  hand. 


The  Song  of  the  Women. 

(Lady  Dufferin's  Fund  for  medical  aid  to  the  Women  of  India.) 

HOW  shall  she  know  the  worship  we  would 

do  her  ? 

The  walls  are  high,  and  she  is  very  far. 
How  shall  the  women's  message  reach  unto 

her 

Above  the  tumult  of  the  packed  bazaar  ? 
Free  wind  of  March,  against  the  lattice 

blowing, 

Bear  thou  our  thanks,  lest  she  depart 
unknowing. 


Go  forth  across  the  fields  we  may  not  roam 

in, 
Go  forth  beyond  the  trees  that  rim  the 

city, 
To  whatsoe'er  fair  place  she  hath  her  home 

in, 
Who  dowered  us  with  wealth  of  love  and 

pity- 

(124) 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  WOMEN.  125-' 

Out  of  our  shadow  pass,  and  seek  her 

singing— 
"  I  have  no  gifts  but  Love  alone  for 

bringing." 

Say  that  we  be  a  feeble  folk  who  greet  her, 
But  old  in  grief,  and  very  wise  in  tears  ; 
Say  that  we,  being  desolate,  entreat  her 
That  she  forget  us  not  in  after  years ; 

For  we  have  seen   the  light,  and  it 

were  grievous 

To  dim  that  dawning  if  our  lady  leave- 
us. 

By  life  that  ebbed  with  none  to  stanch  the 

failing, 

By  Love's  sad  harvest  garnered  in  the  spring,. 
When  Love  in  ignorance  wept  unavailing 
O'er  young  buds  dead  before  their  blos- 
soming ; 

By  all  the  gray  owl  watched,  the  pale- 
moon  viewed, 

In  past  grim  years,  declare  our  grati- 
tude! 

By  hands  uplifted  to  the  Gods  that  heard 

not, 
By  gifts  that  found  no  favor  in  their  sight. 


'126  BALLADS. 

By  faces  bent  above  the  babe  that  stirred 

not, 

By  nameless  horrors  of  the  stifling  night ; 
By  ills  foredone,  by  peace  her  toils 

discover, 

Bid    Earth    bo    good     beneath    and 
Heaven  above  her ! 


If  she  have  sent  her  servants  in  our  pain, 
If  she  have  fought  with  Death  and  dulled 

his  sword ; 

If  she  have  given  back  our  sick  again, 
And    to    the    breast    the    weakling    lips 
restored, 

Is  it  a  little  thing  that  she  has  wrought? 
Then  Life  and  Death  and  Motherhood 
be  nought. 


Go  forth,  0  wind,  our  message  on  thy  wings, 
And  they  shall  hear  thee  pass  and  bid  thee 

speed, 
In  reed-roofed  hut,  or  white-walled  home  of 

kings, 

Who  have  been  helpen  by  her  in  their 
need. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  WOMEN.  127 

All  spring  shall  give  thee  fragrance, 

and  the  wheat 
Shall  be  a  tasselled  floorcloth  to  thy 

feet. 

Haste,  for  our  hearts  are  with  thee,  take  no 

rest ! 

Loud-voiced  ambassador,  from  sea  to  sea 
Proclaim  the  blessing,  manifold,  confest, 
Of  those  in  darkness  by  her  hand  set  free, 
Then  very  softly  to  her  presence  move, 
And  whisper :    "  Lady,  lo,  they  know 
and  love!" 


Ballad  of  Fisher's  Boarding-House. 

THAT  night,  when  through  the  mooring-chains 

The  wide-eyed  corpse  rolled  free, 
To  blunder  down  by  Garden  Reach 

And  rot  at  Kedgeree, 
The  tale  the  Hughli  told  the  shoal 

The  lean  shoal  told  to  me. 

'TWAS  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

Where  sailor-men  reside, 
And  there  were  men  of  all  the  ports 

From  Mississip  to  Clyde, 
And  regally  they  spat  and  smoked, 

And  fearsomely  they  lied. 

They  lied  about  the  purple  Sea 

That  gave  them  scanty  bread, 
They  lied  about  the  Earth  beneath, 

The  Heavens  overhead, 
For  they  had  looked  too  often  on 

Black  rum  when  that  was  red. 

They  told  their  tales  of  wreck  and  wrong, 

Of  shame  and  lust  and  fraud, 
They  backed  their  toughest  statements  with 

The  Brimstone  of  the  Lord, 
And  crackling  oaths  went  to  and  fro 

Across  the  fist- banged  board. 
(123) 


BALLAD  OF  FISHER'S  BOAEDING-HO  USE.    129 

And  there  was  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane. 

Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm, 
Who  carried  on  his  hairy  chest 

The  maid  Ultruda's  charm — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 

And  there  was  Jake  Without-the-Ears, 

And  Pamba  the  Malay, 
And  Carboy  Gin  the  Guinea  cook, 

And  Luz  from  Vigo  Bay, 
And  Honest  Jack  who  sold  them  slops 

And  harvested  their  pay. 

And  there  was  Salem  Hardieker, 

A  lean  Bostonian  he — 
Russ,  German,  English,  Halfbreed,  Finn, 

Yank,  Dane,  and  Portugee, 
At  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

They  rested  from  the  sea. 

Now  Anne  of  Austria  shared  their  drinks, 

Collinga  knew  her  fame, 
From  Tarnau  in  Galicia 

To  Jaun  Bazar  she  came, 
To  eat  the  bread  of  infamy 

And  take  the  wage  of  shame. 
9 


130  BALLADS. 

She  held  a  dozen  men  to  heel — 

Rich  spoil  of  war  was  hers, 
In  hose  and  gown  and  ring  and  chain, 

From  twenty  mariners, 
And,  by  Port  Law,  that  week,  men  called 

Her  Salem  Hardieker's. 

But  seamen  learnt — what  landsmen  know- 
That  neither  gifts  nor  gain 

Can  hold  a  winking  Light  o'  Love 
Or  Fancy's  flight  restrain, 

When  Anne  of  Austria  rolled  her  eyes 
On  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane. 

Since  Life  is  strife,  and  strife  means  knife, 

From  Howrah  to  the  Bay, 
And  he  may  die  before  the  dawn 

Who  liquored  out  the  day, 
In  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

We  woo  while  yet  we  may. 

But  cold  was  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane, 

Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm, 
And  laughter  shook  the  chest  beneath 

The  maid  Ultruda's  charm — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 


BALLAD  OF  FISHERS  BO ARDTxG-HOUSE.    131 

"  You  speak  to  Salem  Hardieker, 

You  was  his  girl,  I  know. 
I  ship  mineselfs  to-morrow,  see, 

Und  round  the  Skaw  we  go, 
South,  down  the  Cattegat,  by  Hjelm, 

To  Besser  in  Saro." 

When  love  rejected  turns  to  hate, 

All  ill  betide  the  man. 
" You  speak  to  Salem  Hardieker" — 

She  spoke  as  woman  can. 
A.  scream — a  sob — "  He  called  me — names  f1 ' 

And  then  the  fray  began. 

An  oath  from  Salem  Hardieker, 

A  shriek  upon  the  stairs, 
A  dance  of  shadows  on  the  wall, 

A  knife-thrust  unawares — 
And  Hans  came  down,  as  cattle  drop, 

Across  the  broken  chairs. 

In  Anne  of  Austria's  trembling  hands 

The  weary  head  fell  low : — 
"  I  ship  mineselfs  to-morrow,  straight 

For  Besser  in  Saro  : 
Und  there  Ultruda  comes  to  me 

At  Easter,  und  I  go 


132  £  ALL  ADS. 

41  South,  down  the  Cattegat —    What's  nere  ? 

There — are — no — lights — to — guide !" 
The  mutter  ceased,  the  spirit  passed, 

And  Anne  of  Austria  cried 
In  Fultah  Fisher's  boarding-house 

When  Hans  the  mighty  died. 

Thus  slew  they  Hans  the  blue-eyed  Dane, 

Bull-throated,  bare  of  arm, 
But  Anne  of  Austria  looted  first, 

The  maid  Ultruda's  charm — 
The  little  silver  crucifix 

That  keeps  a  man  from  harm. 


"As  the  Bell  Clinks." 

AS  I  left  the  Halls  at  Lumley,  rose  the 

vision  of  a  comely 
Maid    last     season    worshipped    dumbly, 

watched  with  fervor  from  afar ; 
And  I  wondered  idly,  blindly,  if  the  maid 

would  greet  me  kindly. 
That  was  all — the  rest  was  settled  by  the 

clinking  tonga-bar. 
Yea,  my  life  and  hers  were  coupled  by  the 

tonga  coupling-bar. 

For  my  misty  meditation,  at  the  second 
changing-station , 

Suffered  sudden  dislocation,  fled  before  the 
tuneless  jar 

Of  a  Wagner  obbligato,  scherzo,  double-hand 
staccato, 

Played  on  either  pony's  saddle  by  the  clack- 
ing tonga-bar — 

Played  with  human  speech,  I  fancied,  by 
the  jigging,  jolting  bar. 

(183) 


134  BALLADS. 

"She  was  sweet,"  thought  I,  "last  season, 

but  'twere  surely  wild  unreason 
Such  tiny  hope  to  freeze  on  as  was  offered 

by  my  Star, 
When  she  whispered,  something  sadly : — '  I 

— we  feel  your  going  badly!'" 
"  And  you  let  the  chance  escape  you  ?"  rapped 

the  rattling  tonga-bar. 
"  What  a  chance  and  what  an  idiot  /"  clicked 

the  vicious  tonga-bar. 

Heart  of  man — oh,  heart  of  putty !  Had  I 
gone  by  Kakahutti, 

'On  the  old  Hill-road  and  rutty,  I  had  'scaped 
that  fatal  car, 

But  his  fortune  each  must  bide  by,  so  I 
watched  the  milestones  slide  by, 

To  "  You  call  on  Her  to-morrow  /" — fugue  with 
cymbals  by  the  bar — 

"  You  must  call  on  Her  to-morrow!" — post- 
horn  gallop  by  the  bar. 


Yet  a  further  stage  my  goal  on — we  were 

whirling  down  to  Solon, 
With  a  double  lurch  and  roll  on,  best  foot 

foremost,  ganz  und  gat — 


"AS  THE  BELL  CLINKS."  135 

"  She  was  very  sweet,"  I  hinted.     "  If  a  kiss 

had  been  imprinted — ?" 
"  'Would  ha*  saved  a  world  of  trouble  /"  clashed 

the  busy  tonga-bar. 
"  'Been   accepted   or   rejected  /"    banged    and 

clanged  the  tonga-bar. 

Then  a  notion  wild  and  daring,  'spite  the 

income  tax's  paring, 
And  a  hasty  thought  of  sharing — less  than 

many  incomes  are, 
Made  me  put  a  question  private,  you  can 

guess  what  I  would  drive  at. 
"  You  must  work  the  sum  to  prove  it"  clanked 

the  careless  tonga-bar. 
"  Simple  Rule  of  Two  will  prove  it"  lilted  back 

the  tonga-bar. 

It  was  under  Khyraghaut  I  mused : — "  Sup- 
pose the  maid  be  haughty — 

(There  are  lovers  rich — and  forty) — wait 
some  wealthy  Avatar?  , 

Answer,  monitor  untiring,  'twixt  the  ponies 
twain  perspiring!" 

"  Faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady"  creaked  the 
straining  tonga-bar. 

"  Can  I  tell  you  ere  you  ask  Her  ?"  pounded 
slow  the  tonga-bar. 


136  BALLADS. 

Last,  the  Tara  Devi  turning  showed  the 
lights  of  Simla  burning, 

Lit  my  little  lazy  yearning  to  a  fiercer 
flame  by  far. 

As  below  the  Mall  we  jingled,  through  my 
very  heart  it  tingled — 

Did  the  iterated  order  of  the  threshing  tonga- 
bar — 

"Try  your  luck — you  can't  do  better!"  twanged 
the  loosened  tonga-bar. 


An  Old  Song. 

SO  long  as  'neath  the  Kalka  hills- 

The  tonga-horn  shall  ring, 
So  long  as  down  the  Solon  dip 

The  hard-held  ponies  swing, 
So  long  as  Tara  Devi  sees 

The  lights  o'  Simla  town, 
So  long  as  Pleasure  calls  us  up, 

And  duty  drives  us  down, 
If  you  lave  me  as  I  love  you, 
What  pair  so  happy  as  we  two  f 

So  long  as  Aces  take  the  King, 

Or  backers  take  the  bet, 
So  long  as  debt  leads  men  to  wed, 

Or  marriage  leads  to  debt, 
So  long  as  little  luncheons,  Love, 
And  scandal  hold  their  vogue, 
While  there  is  sport  at  Annandale 
Or  whiskey  at  Jutogh, 
If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
What  knife  can  cut  our  love  in  two  f 
(137) 


138  BALLADS. 

So  long  as  down  the  rocking  floor 

The  raving  polka  spins, 
So  long  as  Kitchen  Lancers  spur 

The  maddened  violins, 
So  long  as  through  the  whirling  smoke 

We  hear  the  oft-told  tale  : — 
"  Twelve  hundred  in  the  Lotteries," 

And  Whatshername  for  sale  ? 
If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
We'll  play  the  game  and  win  it  too. 

So  long  as  Lust  or  Lucre  tempt 

Straight  riders  from  the  course, 
So  long  as  with  each  drink  we  pour 

Black  brewage  of  Remorse, 
So  long  as  those  unloaded  guns 

We  keep  beside  the  bed 
Blow  off,  by  obvious  accident, 

The  lucky  owner's  head, 
,  If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 

What  can  Life  kill  or  Death  undo  f 


So  long  as  Death  'twixt  dance  and  danc« 
Chills  best  and  bravest  blood, 

And  drops  the  reckless  rider  down 
The  rotten,  rain-soaked  khud, 


AN  OLD  SONG.  139 

So  long  as  rumors  from  the  North 

Make  loving  wives  afraid, 
So  long  as  Burma  takes  the  boy 
And  typhoid  kills  the  maid, 
If  you  love  me  as  J  love  you, 
What  knife  can  cut  our  love  in  two  f 

By  all  that  lights  our  daily  life 

Or  works  our  lifelong  woe, 
From  Boileaugunge  to  Simla  Downs 

And  those  grim  glades  below. 
Where,  heedless  of  the  flying  hoof 

And  clamor  overhead, 
Sleep,  with  the  gray  langur  for  guard, 

Our  very  scornful  Dead, 
If  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
All  Earth  is  servant  to  us  two  f 

By  Docket,  Billetuoux,  and  File, 

By  Mountain,  Cliff,  and  Fir, 
By  Fan  and  Sword  and  Office-box, 

By  Corset,  Plume,  and  Spur, 
By  Riot,  Revel,  Waltz,  and  War, 

By  Women,  Work,  and  Bills, 
By  all  the  life  that  fizzes  in 

The  everlasting  Hills, 
If  you  love  me  as  Hove  you, 
TFTiaZ  pair  so  happy  as  we  two  f 


Certain  Maxims  of  Hafiz. 


IF  It  be  pleasant  to  look  on,  stalled  in  the 

packed  serai, 
Does  not  the  Young  Man  try  Its  temper  and 

pace  ere  he  buy  ? 
If  She  be  pleasant  to  look  on,  what  does  the 

Young  Man  say  ? 
"  Lo !    She  is  pleasant  to  look  on,  give  Her 

to  me  to-day!" 

ii. 

Yea,  though  a  Kafir  die,  to  him  is  remitted 

Jehannum 
If  he  borrowed  in  life  from  a  native  at  sixty 

per  cent,  per  annum. 

in. 
Blister  we  not  for  bursati  f  So  when  the  heart 

is  vext, 

The  pain  of  one  maiden's  refusal  is  drowned 
in  the  pain  of  the  next. 
(140) 


CERTAIN  MAXIMS  OF  UAFIZ.  141 


IV. 


The  temper  of  chums,  the  love  of  your  wife, 

and  a  new  piano's  tune — 
Which  of  the  three  will  you  trust  at  the  end 

of  an  Indian  June  ? 


v. 

Who  are  the  rulers  of  Ind — to  whom  shall 

we  bow  the  knee  ? 
Make  your  peace  with  the  women,  and  men 

will  make  you  L.  G. 


VI. 

Does  the  woodpecker  flit  round  the  young 
jerash?    Does  grass    clothe    a  new-built 

wall  ? 
Is  she  under  thirty,  the  woman  who  holds  a 

boy  in  her  thrall  ? 


VII. 

If  She  grow  suddenly  gracious — reflecc.  Is 
it  all  for  thee? 

The  black-buck  is  stalked  through  the  bul- 
lock, and  Man  through  jealousy. 


142  BALLADS. 


VIII. 


Seek  not  for  favor  of  women.    So  shall  you 

find  it  indeed. 
Does  not  the  boar  break  cover  just  when 

you're  lighting  a  weed  ? 


IX. 


If  He  play,  being  young  and  unskilful,  for 

shekels  of  silver  and  gold, 
Take  His  money,  my  son,  praising  Allah, 

The  kid  was  ordained  to  be  sold. 


x. 


With  a  "  weed  "  among  men  or  horses  verily 

this  is  the  best, 
That  you  work  him  in  office  or    dog-cart 

lightly — but  give  him  no  rest. 


XI. 


Pleasant  the  snaffle  of  Courtship,  improving 

the  manners  and  carriage ; 
But  the  colt  who  is  wise  will  abstain  from 

the  terrible  thorn-bit  of  Marriage. 


CERTAIN  MAXIMS  OF  HAFIZ.  143 

XII. 

As  the  thriftless  gold  of  the  babul,  so  is  the 

gold  that  we  spend 
On  a  Derby  Sweep,  or  our  neighbor's  wife. 

or  the  horse  that  we  buy  from  a  friend. 

XIII. 

The  ways  of  man  with  a  maid  be  strange, 

yet  simple  and  tame 
To  the  ways  of  a  man  with  a  horse,  when 

selling  or  racing  that  same. 

XIV. 

In  public   Her  face   turneth  to   thee,  and 

pleasant  Her  smile  when  ye  meet. 
It  is  ill.     The  cold  rocks  of  El-Gidar  smile 

thus  on  the  waves  at  their  feet. 
In  public  Her  face  is  averted,  with   anger 

She  nameth  thy  name. 
It  is  well.     "Was  there  ever  a  loser  content 

with  the  loss  of  the  game  ? 

xv. 
If  She  have  spoken  a  word,  remember  thy 

lips  are  sealed, 
And  the  Brand  of  the  Dog  is  upon  him  by 

whom  is  the  secret  revealed. 


144  BALLADS. 

If  She  have  written  a  letter,  delay  not  an  in- 
stant, but  burn  it. 

Tear  it  in  pieces,  0  FooL  and  the  wind  to 
her  mate  shall  return  it ! 

If  there  be  trouble  to  Herward,  and  a  lie  of 
the  blackest  can  clear, 

Lie,  "while  thy  lips  can  move  or  a  man  is 
alive  to  hear. 

XVI. 

My  Son,  if  a  maiden  deny  thee  and  scuf- 

flingly  bid  thee  give  o'er, 
Yet  lip  meets  with  lip  at  the  lastward — get 

out!     She  has  been  there  before. 
They  are  pecked  on  the  ear  and  the  chin  and 

the  nose  who  are  lacking  in  lore. 

XVII. 

If  we  fall  in  the  race,  though  we  win,  the 
hoof-slide  is  scarred  on  the  course. 

Though  Allah  and  Earth  pardon  Sin,  re- 
maineth  forever  Remorse. 

XVIII. 

"  By  all  I  am  misunderstood !"  if  the  Matron 

shall  say,  or  the  Maid  : — 
"Alas!  I  do  not  understand,"  my  son,  be 

thou  nowise  afraid. 


CERTAIN  MAXIMS  OF  HAFIZ.  145 

In  vain  in  the  sight  of  the  Bird  is  the  net 
of  the  fowler  displayed. 

XIX. 

My  son,  if  I,  Hafiz,  thy  father,  take  hold  of 

thy  knees  in  my  pain, 
Demanding  thy  name    on  stamped    paper, 

one  day,  or  one  hour — refrain. 
Are  the  links  of  thy  fetters  so  light  that  thou 

era  vest  another  man's  chain  ? 


The  Grave  of  the  Hundred  Head, 

THERE'S  a  widow  in  sleepy  Chester 

Who  weeps  for  her  only  son  ; 
There's  a  grave  on  the  Pabeng  River, 

A  grave  that  the  Burmans  shun, 
And  there's  Subadar  Prag  Tewarri 

Who  tells  how  the  work  was  done. 


A  Snider  squibbed  in  the  jungle,' 
Somebody  laughed  and  fled, 

And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 
Picked  up  their  Subaltern  dead, 

With  a  big  blue  mark  in  his  forehead 
And  the  back  blown  out  of  his  head. 


Subadar  Prag  Tewarri, 

Jemadar  Hira  Lai, 
Took  command  of  the  party, 

Twenty  rifles  in  all, 
Marched  them  down  to  the  river 

As  the  day  was  beginning  to  fall. 
(146) 


THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  HEAD.    147 

They  buried  the  boy  by  the  river, 

A  blanket  over  his  face — 
They  wept  for  their  dead  Lieutenant, 

The  men  of  an  alien  race — 
They  made  a  samddh  in  his  honor, 

A  mark  for  his  resting-place. 

For  they  swore  by  the  Holy  Water, 
They  swore  by  the  salt  they  ate, 

That  the  soul  of  Lieutenant  Eshmitt  Sahib 
Should  go  to  his  God  in  state  ; 

With  fifty  file  of  Burman 
To  open  him  Heaven's  gate. 

The  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Marched  till  the  break  of  day, 
Till  they  came  to  the  rebel  village, 

The  village  of  Pabengmay — 
A  jirtgal  covered  the  clearing, 

Calthrops  hampered  the  way 

Subadar  Prag  Tewarri, 

Bidding  them  load  with  ball, 
Halted  a  dozen  rifles 

Under  the  village  wall ; 
Sent  out  a  flanking-party 

With  Jemadar  Hira  Lai. 


148  BALLADS. 

The  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Shouted  and  smote  and  slew, 
Turning  the  grinning  jingal 

On  to  the  howling  crew. 
The  Jemadar's  flanking-party 

Butchered  the  folk  who  flew. 

Long  was  the  morn  of  slaughter, 

Long  was  the  list  of  slain, 
Five  score  heads  were  taken, 

Five  score  heads  and  twain  ; 
And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Went  back  to  their  grave  again, 

Each  man  bearing  a  basket 

Red  as  his  palms  that  day, 
Red  as  the  blazing  village — 

The  village  of  Pabengmay. 
And  the  "  drip-drip-drip  "  from  the  baskets 

Reddened  the  grass  by  the  way. 

They  made  a  pile  of  their  trophies 

High  as  a  tall  man's  chin, 
Head  upon  head  distorted, 

Set  in  a  sightless  grin, 
Anger  and  pain  and  terror 

Stamped  on  the  smoke-scorched  skin. 


THE  GRAVE  OF  THE  HUNDRED  HEAD.  149- 

Subadar  Prag  Tewarri 

Put  the  head  of  the  Boh 
On  the  top  of  the  mound  of  triumph, 

The  head  of  his  son  below, 
With  the  sword  and  the  peacock-banner 

That  the  world  might  behold  and  know. 

Thus  the  samddh  was  perfect, 

Thus  was  the  lesson  plain 
Of  the  wrath  of  the  First  Shikaris — 

The  price  of  a  white  man  slain ; 
And  the  men  of  the  First  Shikaris 

Went  back  into  camp  again. 

Then  a  silence  came  to  the  river, 

A  hush  fell  over  the  shore, 
And  Bohs  that  were  brave  departed, 
And  Sniders  squibbed  no  more ; 
For  the  Burmans  said,        • 
That  a  kullah's  head 
Must  be  paid  for  with  heads  five  score. 

Tliere's  a  widow  in  sleepy  Chester 

Who  weeps  for  her  only  son; 
There's  a  grave  on  the  Pnbeng  River , 

A  grave  that  the  Burmans  shun, 
And  there's 'Subadar  Prag  Tewarri 

Who  tells  how  the  work  was  done. 


The  Overland  Mail. 

(Foot-Service  to  the  Hills. ) 

EN  the  name  of  the  Empress  of  India,  make 

way, 
O  Lords  of   the   Jungle,  wherever  you 

roam. 

The  woods  are  astir  at  the  close  of  the  day — 
We    exiles  are  waiting  for  letters  from 

Home. 
Let   the  robber  retreat — let  the  tiger  turn 

tail- 
In  the  Name  of  the  Empress,  the  Overland 

Mail! 

With  a  jingle  of  bells  as  the  dusk  gathers  in, 
He  turns  to  the  foot-path  that  heads  up 

hill— 
The  bags  on  his  back  and  a  cloth  round  his 

chin, 
And,  tucked  in  his  waist-belt,  the  Post 

Office  bill:— 
"  Despatched  on  this   date,  as  received  by 

the  rail, 

Per  runner,  two  bags  of  the  Overland  Mail." 
(150) 


THE  OVERLAID  MAIL.  151 

Is  the  torrent  in  spate  ?     He  must  ford  it  or 

swim. 
Has  the   rain   wrecked  the  road?      He 

must  climb  by  the  cliff. 
Does  the  tempest  cry  "Halt"?    What  are" 

tempests  to  him  ? 
The  Service  admits  not  a  "but''  or  an 

"  if." 
While  the  breath's  in  his  mouth,  he  must 

bear  without  fail, 
In  the  'name  of  the  Empress,  the  Overland 

Mail. 

From  aloe  to  rose-oak,  from  rose-oak  to  fir, 
From  level  to  upland,  from  upland  to 
crest, 

From   rice-field   to  rock-ridge,   from    rock- 
ridge  to  spur, 

Fly   the  soft   sandalled   feet,  strains   the 
brawny  brown  chest.  • 

From  rail  to  ravine — to  the  peak  from  the 
vale — 

Up,  up  through  the  night  goes  the  Overland 
Mail. 

There's  a  speck  on  the  hillside,  a  dot  on  the 
road — 


152  BALLADS. 

A  jingle  of  bells  on  the  foot-path  below — 
There's  a  scuffle   above  in   the   monkey's 

abode — 
The  world  is  awake,  and  the  clouds  are 

aglow. 
For  the  great  Sun  himself  must  attend  to  the 

hail:— 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Empress,  the  Overland 
Maill" 


What  the  People  Said. 

(June  21, 1837.) 

BY  the  well,  where  the  bullocks  go 

Silent  and  blind  and  slow — 

By  the  field  where  the  young  corn  dies 

In  the  face  of  the  sultry  skies, 

They  have  heard,  as  the  dull  earth  hears 

The  voice  of  the  wind  of  an  hour, 

The  sound  of  the  Great  Queen's  voice : — 

"  My  God  hath  given  me  years, 

Hath  granted  dominion  and  power  : 

And  I  bid  you,  0  Land,  rejoice." 


And  the  ploughman  settles  the  share 

More  deep  in  the  grudging  clod ; 

For  he  saith  :    "  The  wheat  is  my  care, 

And  the  rest  is  the  will  of  God. 

He  sent  the  Mahratta  spear 

As  He  sendeth  the  rain, 

And  the  Mlech,  in  the  fated  year, 

Broke  the  spear  in  twain, 

(153) 


154  BALLADS. 

And  was  broken  in  turn.     Who  knows 
How  our  Lords  make  strife  ? 
It  is  good  that  the  young  wheat  grows, 
For  the  bread  is  Life." 

Then,  far  and  near,  as  the  twilight  drew, 
Hissed  up  to  the  scornful  dark 

Great  serpents,  blazing,  of  red  and  blue, 

That  rose  and  faded,  and  rose  anew, 

That  the  Land  might  wonder  and  mark. 

"  To-day  is  a  day  of  days,"  they  said, 

"  Make  merry,  0  People,  all!" 

And  the  Ploughman  listened  and  bowed  his 
head : — 

"  To-day  and  to-morrow  God's  will,"  he  said, 

As  he  trimmed  the  lamps  on  the  wall. 

"  He  sendeth  us  years  that  are  good, 

As  He  sendeth  the  dearth. 

He  giveth  to  each  man  his  food, 

Or  Her  food  to  the  Earth. 

Our  Kings  and  our  Queens  are  afar — 

On  their  peoples  be  peacfe — 

God  bringeth  the  rain  to  the  Bar, 

That  our  cattle  increase." 

And  the  Ploughman  settled  the  share 
More  deep  in  the  sun-dried  clod  : — 


WSAT  THE  PEOPLE  SAID.  155 

"  Mogul,  Mahratta,  and  Mlech  from  the  North, 
And  White  Queen  over  the  Seas — 
God  raiseth  them  up  and  driveth  them  forth 
As  the  dust  of  tho  ploughshare  flies  in  the 

breeze ; 

But  the  wheat  and  the  cattle  are  all  my  care 
And  the  rest  is  the  will  of  God." 


The  Undertaker's  Horse. 

"  TO-TSCHIN-SHU  is  condemned  to  death.   How  can  he  drink 
tea  with  the  Executioner?''— Japanese  Proverb. 

THE  eldest  son  bestrides  him 

And  the  pretty  daughter  rides  him, 

And  I  meet  him  oft  o'  mornings   on  the 

Course ; 

And  there  wakens  in  my  bosom 
An  emotion  chill  and  gruesome 
A«  I  canter  pa-st,  the  Undertaker's  Horse. 

neither  shies  ne  nor  is  restive, 
But  a  hideousty  suggestive 
Trot,  professional  and  placid,  he  affects ; 
And  the  cadence  of  his  hoof-beats 
To  my  mind,  this  grim  reproof  beats : — 
"  Mend  your  pace,  my  friend,  I'm  coming. 
Who's  the  next?" 

Ahl  stud-bred  of  ill-omen, 
I  have  watched  the  strongest  go — men 
Of    pith  and  might  and  muscle — at  your 
heels, 
(156) 


THE  UNDERTAKER'S  HORSE.  15T 

Down  the  plantain-bordered  highway, 

(Heaven  send  it  ne'er  be  my  way !) 

In  a  lacquered  box  and  jetty  upon  wheels. 

Answer,  sombre  beast  and  dreary, 
Where  is  Brown,  the  young,  the  cheery, 
Smith,  the  pride  of  all  his  friends  and  half 

the  Force? 

You  were  at  that  last  dread  dak 
We  must  cover  at  a  walk, 
Bring   them   back   to  me,  0  Undertaker's 

Horse ! 

With  your  mane  unhogged  and  flowing, 

And  your  curious  way  of  going, 

And  thai  business-like  black  crimping  of. 

your  tail, 

E'en  with  Beauty  on  your  back,  sir, 
Pacing  as  a  lady's  hack,  sir, 
WThat  wonder  when  I  meet  you  I  turn  pale  T 

It  may  be  you  wait  your  time,  Beast, 
Till  I  write  my  last  bad  rhyme,  Beast, 
Quit  the  sunlight,  cut  the  rhyming,  drop 

the  glass, 

Follow  after  with  the  others, 
Where  some  dusky  heathen  smothers 
Us  with  marigolds  in  lieu  of  English  grass. 


158  BALLADS. 

Or,  perchance,  in  years  to  follow, 

I  shall  watch  your  plump  sides  hollow, 

See  Carnifex  (gone  lame)  become  a  corse, 

See  old  age  at  last  o'erpower  you, 

And  the  Station  Pack  devour  you, 

I  shall  chuckle  then,  O  Undertaker's  Horse ! 

But  to  insult,  gibe,  and  quest,  I've 
Still  the  hideously  suggestive 
Trot  that  hammers  out  the  grim  and  warn- 
ing text, 

And  I  hear  it  hard  behind  me, 
In  what  place  soe'er  I  find  me  : — 
"  Sure  to  catch  you  sooner  or  later.     Who's 
the  next?" 


Arithmetic  on  the  Frontier. 

A  GREAT  and  glorious  thing  it  is 
To  learn,  for  seven  years  or  so, 

The  Lord  knows  what  of  that  and  this, 
Ere  reckoned  fit  to  face  the  foe — 

The  flying  bullet  down  the  Pass, 

That  whistles  clear :  "  All  flesh  is  grass." 

Three  hundred  pounds  per  annum  spent 
On  making  brain  and  body  meeter 

For  all  the  murderous  intent 

Comprised  in  "  villanous  saltpetre !" 

And  after — ask  the  Yusuizaies 

What  comes  of  all  our  'ologies. 

A  scrimmage  in  a  Border  Station — 
A  canter  down  some  dark  defile — 

Two  thousand  pounds  of  education 
Drops  to  a  ten-rupee  jezail — 

The  Crammer's  boast,  the  Squadron's  pride, 

Shot  like  a  rabbit  in  a  ride ! 

(159) 


160  BALLADS. 

No  proposition  Euclid  wrote, 
No  formulae  the  text-books  know, 

Will  turn  the  bullet  from  your  coat, 
Or  ward  the  tulwar's  downward  blow. 

Strike  hard  who  cares — shoot  straight  who 
can — 

The  odds  are  on  the  cheaper  man. 

•One  sword-knot  stolen  from  the  camp 
Will  pay  for  all  the  school  expenses 

Of  any  Kurrum  Valley  scamp 

Who  knows  no  word  or  moods  and  tenses, 

But,  being  blessed  with  perfect  sight, 

Picks  off  our  messmates  left  and  right. 

With  home-bred  hordes  the  hill-sides  teem, 
The  troop-ships  bring  us  one  by  one, 

At  vast  expense  of  time  and  steam, 
To  slay  Alfridis  where  they  run. 

The  "  captives  of  our  bow  and  spear  " 

Are  cheap — alas !  as  we  are  dear. 


One  Viceroy  Resigns. 

(Lord  Dufferin  to  Lord  Lansdowne. ) 

SO  here's  your  Empire.  No  more  wine,< 
then  ?  Good. 

We'll  clear  the  Aides  and  khitmatgars  away. 

(You'll  know  that  fat  old  fellow  with  the- 
knife — 

He  keeps  the  Name  Book,  talks  in  English 
too, 

And  almost  thinks  himself  the  Govern- 
ment.) 

0  Youth,  Youth,  Y'outh  !   Forgive  me,  you're- 
so  young. 

Forty  from  sixty — twenty  years  of  work 
And  power  to  back  the  working.     Ay  demit 
You  want  to  know,  you  want  to  see,  to  touch, 
And,  by  your  lights,  to  act.     It's  natural. 

1  wonder  can  I  help  you.     Let  me  try. 
You  saw — what  did  you  see  from  Bomba}' 

east? 

Enough  to  frighten  any  one  but  me? 

Neat  that!  It  frightened  Me  in  Eighty- 
Four! 

You  shouldn't  take  a  man  from  Canada 
11  ( 161 ) 


162  BALLADS. 

Arid  bid  him  smoke  in.  powder-magazines  ; 

Nor  with  a  Reputation  such  as — Bah ! 

That  ghost  has  haunted  me  for  twenty  years. 

My     Reputation    now    full    blown — Your 
fault — 

Yours,   with   your  stories  of  the  strife  at 
Home, 

Who's  up,  who's  down,  who  leads  and  who 
is  led — 

One  reads  so  much,  one  hears  so  little  here. 

Well,  now's  your  turn  of  exile.    I  go  back 

To  Rome  and  leisure.      All  roads  lead  to 
Rome, 

Or  books — the  refuge  of  the  destitute. 

When  you  .  .  .  that  brings  me  back  to  In- 
dia.    See ! 

Start  clear.     I  couldn't.     Egypt  served 
my  turn. 

You'll  never  plumb  the  Oriental  mind, 

And  if  you  did  it  isn't  worth  the  toil. 

Think  of  a  sleek  French  priest  in  Canada ; 

Divide  by  twenty  half-breeds.     Multiply 

By   twice   the   Sphinx's    silence.      There's 
your  East, 

And  you're  as  wise  as  ever.     So  am  I. 
Accept  on  trust  and  work  in  darkness, 
strike 


ONE  VICEBO  Y  RESIGNS.  163 

At  venture,  stumble  forward,  make    your 

mark, 
(It's  chalk  on  granite),  then  thank  God  no 

flame 
Leaps  from  the  rock  to  shrivel  mark  and 

man. 
I'm  clear — my  mark  is  made.    Three  months 

of  drought 
Had  ruined  much.     It  rained  and  washed 

away 
The  specks  that  might  have  gathered  on  my 

Name. 

I  took  a  country  twice  the  size  of  France, 
And  shuttered  up  one  doorway  in  the  North. 
I  stand  by  those.     You'll  find  that  both  will 

pay, 

I  pledged  my  Name  on  both — they're  yours 

to-night. 
Hold  to  them — they  hold  fame  enough  for 

two. 

I'm  old,  but  I  shall  live  till  Burma  pays. 
Men  there — not  German  traders — Cr-sthw-te 

knows — 

You'll  find  it  in  my  papers.     For  the  North 
Guns  always — quietly — but  always  guns. 
You've  seen  your  Council?    Yes,  they'll  try 

to  rule, 


164  BALLADS. 

And  prize  their  Reputations.     Have  you  met 
A  grim  lay -reader  with  a  taste  for  coins, 
And  faith  in  Sin  most  men  withhold  from 

God? 
He's  gone  to   England.     R-p-n  knew  his 

grip 
And   kicked.      A   Council    always    has   its 

H-pes. 
'They  look  for  nothing  from  the  West  but 

Death 
-Or    Bath   or    Bournemouth.     Here's    their 

ground. 

They  fight 

Until  the  middle  classes  take  them  back, 
One  of  ten  millions  plus  a  C.  S.  I. 
Or  drop  in  harness.     Legion  of  the  Lost? 
Not  altogether — earnest,  narrow  men, 
But  chiefly  earnest,  and  they'll  do  your  work, 
And  end  by  writing  letters  to  the  Times. 
(Shall  J  write  letters,  answering  H-nt-r — 

fawn 
With    R-p-n    on    the   Yorkshire    grocers? 

Ugh!) 

They  have  their  Reputations.   Look  to  one — 
I  work  with  him — the  smallest  of  them  all, 
White-haired,  red-faced,  who  sat  the  plung- 
ing horse 


ONE  VICEROY  RESIGNS.  165 

Out  in  the  garden.     He's  your  right-hand 

man, 
And   dreams   of   tilting    W-ls-y  from   the 

throne, 
But  while  he  dreams  gives  work  we  cannot 

buy; 

He  has  his  Reputation — wants  the  Lords 
By  way  of  Frontier  Roads.  Meantime,  I 

think, 

He  values  very  much  the  hand  that  falls 
Upon  his  shoulder  at  the  Council  table — 
Hates  cats  and  knows  his  business :  which  is 

yours. 

Your  business !     Twice  a  hundred  mil- 
lion souls. 
Your  business!      I   could  tell  you  what  I 

did 

Some  nights  of  Eighty-Five,  at  Simla,  worth 
A  Kingdom's  ransom.     When  a  big  ship 

drives, 
God  knows  to  what  new  reef  the  man  at  the 

wheel  v 

Prays  with  the  passengers.    They  lose  their 

lives, 

Or  rescued  go  their  way ;  but  he's  no  man 
To  take  his  trick  at  the  wheel  again — that's 

T  arse 


166  BALLADS. 

Than  drowning.  Well,  a  galled  Mashobra 
mule 

(You'll  see  Mashobra)  passed  me  on  the 
Mall, 

And  I  was — some  fool's  wife  had  ducked 
and  bowed 

To  show  the  others  I  would  stop  and  speak. 

Then  the  mule  fell — three  galls,  a  hand- 
breadth  each, 

Behind  the  withers.     Mrs.  Whatsisname 

Leers  at  the  mule  and  me  by  turns,  thweet 
thoul ! 

"How  could  they  make  him  carry  such  a 
load !" 

I  saw — it  isn't  often  I  dream  dreams — 

More  than  the  mule  that  minute — smoke 
and  flame 

From  Simla  to  the  haze  below.  That's 
weak. 

You're  younger.  You'll  dream  dreams  be- 
fore you've  done. 

You've  youth,  that's  one — good  workmen — 
that  means  two 

Fair  chances  in  your  favor.  Fate's  the  third. 

I  know  what  I  did.  Do  you  ask  me, 
"Preach?" 

I  answer  by  my  past  or  else  go  back 


ONE  VICEROY  RESIGNS.  167 

To  platitudes  of  rule — or  take  you  thus 

In  confidence  and    say  : — "  You  know  the 

trick : 
You've  governed  Canada.  'You  know.     You 

know!" 
And  all  the  while  commend  you  to  Fate's 

hand 

(Here  at  the  top  one  loses  sight  o'  God), 
Commend   you,  then,    to    something    more 

than  you — 
The  Other  People's  blunders  and    .    .     . 

that's  all. 

I'd  agonize  to  serve  you  if  I  could. 
It's  incommunicable,  like  the  cast 
That  drops  the  tackle  with  the  gut  adry. 
Too  much — too  little — there's  your  salmon 

lost! 

And  so  I  tell  you  nothing — wish  you  luck, 
And    wonder — how    I    wonder! — for    your 

sake 
And  triumph  for  my  own.     You're  young, 

you're  young, 

You  hold  to  half  a  hundred  Shibboleths. 
I'm  old.     I  followed  Power  to  the  last, 
Gave  her  my  best,  and  Power  followed  Me. 
It's    worth    it — on    my  soul    I'm  speaking 

plain, 


168  BALLADS. 

Here  by  the  claret  glasses  ! — vorth  it  all. 

I  gave — no  matter  what  I  gave — I  win. 

I  know  I  win.    Mine's  work,  good  work  that 

live! 
A  country  twice   the   size  of   France — the 

North 
Safeguarded.     That's  my  record:   sink  the 

rest 
And  better  if  you  can.       The  Rains  may 

serve, 
Rupees  may  rise — three  pence  »vill  give  you 

Fame — 

It's  rash  to  hope  for  sixpence — 1  f  they  rise 
Get  guns,  more  guns,  and  lift  the  falt-tax. 

Oh! 
I  told   you    what  the   Congress   mer.nt  or 

thought? 

I'll  answer  nothing.     Half  a  year  will  prove 
The  full  extent  of  time  and  thought  you'll 

spare. 

To  Congress.    Ask  a  Lady  Doctor  once 
How  little  Begums  see  the  light — deduce 
Thence  how  the  True   Reformer's  child  V 

born. 

It's  interesting,  curious    .    .    .    and  vile. 
I  told  the  Turk  he  was  a  gentleman. 
I  told  the  Russian  that  his  Tartar  veins 


ONE  VICEROY  RESIGNS.  169 

Bled  pure  Parisian  ichor  ;  and  he  purred. 
The  Congress  doesn't  purr.  I  think  it  swears. 
You're  young — you'll  swear  too  ere  you've 

reached  the  end. 

The  End !  God  help  you,  if  there  be  a  God. 
(There  must  be  one  to  startle  Gl-dst-ne's 

soul 

In  that  new  land  where  all  the  wires  are  cut, 
And  Cr-ss  snores  anthems  on  the  asphodel). 
God  help  you !  And  I'd  help  you  if  I  could. 
But  that's  beyond  me.  Yes,  your  speech 

was  crude. 

Sound  claret  after  olives — yours  and  mine; 
But  Medoc  slips  into  vin  ordinaire. 
(I'll  drink  my  first  at  Genoa  to  your  health.) 
Raise  it  to  Hock.    You'll  never  catch  my 

style. 

And,  after  all,  the  middle-classes  grip 
The  middle-class — for  Brompton  talk  Earl's 

Court. 
Perhaps  you're  right.     I'll  see  you  in  the 

Times — 

A  quarter-column  of  eye-searing  print, 
A  leader  once  a  quarter — then  a  war ; 
The  Strand  abellow  through  the  fog :  "  De- 
feat!" 
"  'Orrible  slaughter  !"    While  you  lie  awake 


170  BALLADS. 

And  wonder.     Oh,  you'll  wonder  ere  you're 

free  ! 

I  wonder  now.    The  four  years  slide  away 
So  fast,  so  fast,  and  leave  me  here  alone. 
R  —  y,  C-lv-n,  L  —  1,  R-b-rts,  B-ck,  the  rest, 
Princes  and  Powers  of  Darkness,  troops  and 

trains, 

(I  cannot  sleep  in  trains),  land  piled  on  land, 
Whitewash  and  weariness,  red  rockets,  dust, 
White  snows  that  mocked  me,  palaces  —  with 

draughts, 
And  W-stl-nd  with  the  drafts  he  couldn't 


. 

Poor  W-ls-n  reading  his  obituary 

Before  he  died,   and  H-pe,  the  man   with 

bones, 

And  A-tch-s-n  a  dripping  mackintosh 
At  Council  in  the  Rains,  his  grating  "Sirrr" 
Half  drowned  by  H-nt-r's  feilky  :  —  "  Bat  my 

lahd." 

Hunterian  always  :  M-rsh-1  spinning  plates 
Or  standing  on  his  head  ;  the   Rent  Bill's 

roar, 
A  hundred  thousand  speeches,  much    red 

cloth, 
And  Smiths  thrice   happy  if  I  call    them 

Jones, 


ONE  VICEROY  RESIGNS.  171 

(I  can't  remember    half  their    names)    or 

reined 

My  pony  on  the  Mall  to  greet  their  wives. 
More   trains,  more  troops,  more  dust,  and 

then  all's  done. 

Four  years,  and  I  forget.     If  I  forget 
How  will  they  bear  me  in  their  minds  ?    The 

North 
Safeguarded — nearly    (R-b-rts   knows   the 

rest), 

A  country  twice  the  size  of  France  annexed, 
That  stays  at  least.     The  rest  may  pass — 

may  pass — 

Your  heritage — and  I  can  teach  you  nought. 
"  High  trust,"  "  vast  honor,"  "  interests  twice 

as  vast," 
"  Due  reverence  to  your  Council  " — keep  to 

those. 

I  envy  you  the  twenty  years  you've  gained, 
But  not  the  five  to  follow.      What's  that? 

One? 
Two ! — Surely    not    so    late.      Good-night. 

Don't  dream. 


The  Betrothed 

'•'  You  must  choose  between  me  and  your  cigar." 

OPEN  the  old  cigar-box,  get  me  a  Cuba 

stout, . 
For    things    are    running    crossways,  and 

Maggie  and  I  are  out. 

We  quarrelled  about  Havanas — we  fought 

o'er  a  good  cheroot, 
And  I  know  she  is  exacting,  and  she  says  I 

am  a  brute. 

Open  the  old  cigar-box — let  me  consider  a 

space; 
In  the  soft  blue  veil  of  the  vapor,  musing  on 

Maggie's  face. 

Maggie  is  pretty  to  look  at — Maggie's  a  loving 

lass, 
But  the  prettiest  cheeks  must  wrinkle,  the 

truest  of  loves  must  pass. 
(172) 


THE  BETROTHED.  ITS 

There's  peace  in  a  Laranaga,  there's  calm  in 

a  Henry  Clay, 
But  the  best  cigar  in  an  hour  is  finished  and 

thrown  away — 

Thrown  away  for  another  as  perfect  and  ripe 

and  brown — 
But  I  could  not  throw  away  Maggie  for  fear 

o'  the  talk  o'  the  town  ! 

Maggie,  my  wife  at  fifty — gray  and  dour  and 

old— 
With  never  another  Maggie  to  purchase  for 

love  or  gold ! 

And  the  light  of  Days  that  have  Been,  the 

dark  of  the  Days  that  Are, 
And  Love's  torch  stinking  and  stale,  like  the 

butt  of  a  dead  cigar —  ' 

The  butt  of  a  dead  cigar  you  are  bound  to 

keep  in  your  pocket — 
With  never  a  new  one  to  light  tho'  it's  charred 

and  black  to  the  socket. 

Open  the  old  cigar-box — let  me  consider  a 

while — 
Here  is  a  mild  Manilla — there  is  a  wifely 

smile. 


174  BALLADS. 

Which  is  the  better  portion — bondage  bought 

with  a  ring, 
Or  a  harem  of  dusky  beauties  fifty  tied  in  a 

string  ? 

Counsellors  cunning  and  silent — comforters 

true  and  tried, 
And  never  a  one  of  the  fifty  to  sneer  at  a 

rival  bride. 

Thought  in  the  early  morning,  solace  in  time 

of  woes, 
Peace  in  the  hush  of  the  twilight,  balm  ere 

my  eyelids  close. 

This  will  the  fifty  give  me,  asking  nought  in 

return, 
With  only   a  Suttee's  passion — to  do  their 

duty  and  burn.  • 

This  will  the  fifty  give  me.     When  they  are 

spent  and  dead, 
Five  times  other  fifties  shall  be  my  servants 

instead. 

The  furrows  of  far-off  Java,  the  isles  of  the 

Spanish  Main, 
When  they  hear  my  harem  is  empty,  will 

send  me  my  brides  again. 


THE  BETROTHED.  175 

I  will  take  no  heed  to  their  raiment,  nor 

food  for  their  mouths  withal, 
So  long  as  the  gulls  are  nesting,  so  long  as 

the  showers  fall. 

I  will  scent  'em  with  best  vanilla,  with  tea 

will  I  temper  their  hides, 
And  the  Moor  and  the  Mormon  shall  envy 

who  read  of  the  tale  of  my  brides. 

For  Maggie  has  written  a  letter  to  give  me 

my  choice  between 
The  wee  little   whimpering   Love  and  the 

great  god  Nick  o'  Teen. 

And  I  have  been  servant  of  Love  for  barely 

a  twelvemonth  clear, 
But  I  have  been  Priest  of  Partagas  a  matter 

of  seven  year ; 

And    the  gloom   of  my  bachelor  days  is 

necked  with  the  cheery  light 
Of  stumps  that  I  burned  to  Friendship  and 

Pleasure  and  Work  and  Fight. 

And  I  turn  my  eyes  to  the  future  that  Maggie 

and  I  must  prove, 
But  the   only  light  on  the  marshes  is  the 

Will-o'-the-Wisp  of  Love. 


176  BALLADS. 

Will  it  see  me  safe  through  my  journey,  or 

leave  me  bogged  in  the  mire  ? 
.Since  a  pufi  of  tobacco  can  cloud  it,  shall  I 

follow  the  fitful  fire  ? 

Open  the  old  cigar-box — let  me    consider 

anew — 
Old  friends,  and  who  is  Maggie  that  I  should 

abandon  you  ? 

A  million  surplus  Maggies  are  willing  to 

bear  the  yoke ; 
And  a  woman  is  only  a  woman,  but  a  good 

cigar  is  a  Smoke. 

Light  me  another  Cuba ;  I  hold  to  my  first- 

eworn  vows, 
If  Maggie  will  have  no  rival,  I'll  have  no 

Maggie  for  spouse  1 


A  Tale  of  Two  Cities. 

WHERE  the  sober-colored  cultivator  smiles 

On  his  byles; 

Where  the  cholera,  the   cyclone,  and  the 
crow 

Come  and  go ; 
Where  the  merchant  deals  in  indigo  and  tea, 

Hides  and  ghi; 
WThere  the  Babu  drops  inflammatory  hints 

In  his  prints ; 

Stands  a  City — Charnock  chose  it — packed 
away 

Near  a  Bay — 
By  the  sewage  rendered  fetid,  by  the  sewer 

Made  impure, 

By  the  Sunderbunds  unwholesome,  by  the 
swamp 

Moist  and  damp ; 
And  the  City  and  the  Viceroy,  as  we  see, 

Don't  agree. 

Once,  two   hundred   years  ago,  the  trader 
came 

Meek  and  tame. 

12  ( 177  ) 


178  BALLADS. 

Where  his  timid  foot  first  halted,  there  he 
stayed, 

Till  mere  trade 

Grew  to  Empire,  and  he  sent  his  armies 
forth 

South  and  North 
Till  the  country  from  Peshawar  to  Ceylon 

Was  his  own. 

Thus  the  mid-day  halt  of  Charnock — more's 
the  pity ! 

Grew  a  City. 
As  the  fungus  sprouts  chaotic  from  its  bed, 

So  it  spread — 

Chance-directed,   chance-erected,   laid   and 
built 

On  the  silt — 
Palace,  byre,  hovel — poverty  and  pride — 

Side  by  side ; 
And,  above  the  packed  and  pestilential  town, 

Death  looked  down. 
But  the  Rulers  in  that  City  by  the  Sea 

Turned  to  flee — 
Fled,  with  each  returning  spring-tide  from 

its  ills 

To  the  Hills. 

From  the  clammy  fogs  of  morning,  from  the 
blaze 

Of  the  days, 


A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES.  179 

From  the  sickness  of  the  noontide,  from  the 
heat, 

Beat  retreat ; 
For  the  country  from  Peshawar  to  Ceylon 

Was  their  own. 

But  the  Merchant  risked  the  perils  of  the 
Plain 

For  his  gain. 

Now  the  resting-place  of  Charnock,  'neath 
the  palms, 

Asks  an  alms, 
And  the  burden  of  its  lamentation  is, 

Briefly,  this : 

"  Because,  for  certain  months,  we  boil  and 
stew, 

So  should  you. 
Cast  the  Viceroy  and  his  Council  to  perspire 

In  our  fire !" 
And  for  answer  to  the  argument,  in  vain 

We  explain 
That  an  amateur   Saint    Lawrence  cannoi 

"All  must  fry!" 

That  the  Merchant  risks  the  perils  of  the 
Plain 

For  his  gain, 
Nor  can  Rulers  rule  a  house  that  men  grow 

rich  in, 

From  its  kitchen. 


180  BALLADS. 

Let  the  Babu  drop  inflammatory  hints 

In  his  prints ; 

And  mature — consistent  soul — his  plan  for 
stealing 

To  Darjeeling: 

Let  the  Merchant  seek,  who  makes  his  silver 
pile, 

England's  isle; 

Let    the   City  Charnock    pitched  on — evil 
day! — 

Go  Her  way. 
Though  the  argosies  of  Asia  at  Her  doors 

Heap  their  stores, 
Though  Her  enterprise  and  energy  secure 

Income  sure, 

Though    "out-station     orders     punctually 
obeyed  " 

Swell  her  trade — 

Stitt}  for  rule,  administration,  and  the  rest, 
Simla's  best. 


Griffen's  Debt 

IMPRIMIS  he  was    "broke."      Thereafter 

left 

His  regiment,  and,  later,  took  to  drink  ; 
Then,  having  lost  the  balance  of  his  friends, 
"Went  Fantee" — joined  the  people  of  the 

land, 
Turned  three    parts    Mussulman    and  one 

Hindu, 

And  lived  among  the  Gauri  villagers, 
Who  gave  him  shelter  and  a  wife  or  twain, 
And  boasted    that    a   thorough,  full-blood 

sahib 
Had  come  among  them.     Thus  he  spent  hi« 

time, 

Deeply  indebted  to  the  village  shroff, 
(Who  never    asked   for   payment)    always 

drunk, 

Unclean,  abominable,  out-at-heels ; 
Forgetting  that  he  was  an  Englishman. 

You  know  they  dammed  the  Gauri  with  a 

dam, 
And  all  the  good  contractors  scamped  their 

work, 

(181) 


182  BALLADS. 

i 

And  all  the  bad  material  at  hand 

Was  used  to   dam  the   Gauri — which    was 

cheap, 
And,    therefore    proper.    Then    the   Gauri 

burst, 

And  several  hundred  thousand  cubic  tons 
Of  water  dropped  into  the  valley,  flop, 
And  drowned    some    five  and  twenty   vil- 
lagers, 

And  did  a  lakh  or  two  of  detriment 
To  crops  and  cattle.     When  the  flood  went 

down 
We  found  him  dead,  beneath  an  old  dead 

horse, 

Full  six  miles  down  the  valley.    So  we  said 
He  was  a  victim  to  the  Demon  Drink, 
And  moralized  upon  him  for  a  week, 
And  then  forgot  him.     Which  was  natural. 

But,  in  the  valley  of  the  Gauri,  men 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  big  new  dam 
Relate  a  foolish  legend  of  the  flood, 
Accounting  for  the  little  loss  of  life 
(Only  those  five  and  twenty  villagers) 
In  this  wise:  On  the  evening  of  the  flood, 
They  heard  the  groaning  of  the  rotten  dam, 
And  voices  of  the  Mountain  Devils.    Then 


OEIPF. EWS  DEB  T.  183 

An  incarnation  of  the  local  God, 

Mounted  upon  a  monster-neighing  horse, 

And  flourishing  a  flail-like  whip,  came  down, 

Breathing  ambrosia,  to  the  villages, 

And  fell  upon  the  simple  villagers 

With  yells   beyond    the   power  of   mortal 

throat, 
And  blows    beyond    the   power  of  mortal 

hand, 
And  smote  them  with  the  flail-like  whip,  and 

drove 

Them  clamorous  with  terror  up  the  hill, 
And    scattered,  with  the  monster-neighing 

steed, 

Their  crazy  cottages  about  their  ears, 
And  generally  cleared  those  villages. 
Then  came  the  water,  and  the  local  God, 
Breathing  ambrosia,  flourishing  his  whip, 
And    mounted     on    his     monster-neighing 

steed, 

Went  down  the  valley  with  the  flying  trees 
And   residue    of  homesteads,   while    they 

watched 
Safe  on  the  mountain-side  these  wondrous 

things, 
And  knew  that  they  were  much  beloved  of 

Heaven. 


184  BALLADS. 

Wherefore,  and  when  the  dam  was  newly 

built, 

They  raised  a  temple  to  the  local  God, 
And  burned  all  manner  of  unsavory  things 
Upon  his  altar  and  created  priests, 
And  blew  into  a  conch,  and  banged  a  bell, 
And  told  the  story  of  the  Gauri  flood 
With  circumstance  and  much  embroidery. 

So  he  the  whiskified  Objectionable, 

Unclean,  abominable,  out-at-heels, 

Became  the  tutelary  Deity 

Of  all  the  Gauri  valley  villages ; 

And  may  in  time  become  a  Solar  Myth. 


The  Galley-Slave. 

OH,  gallant  was  our  galley  from  her  carven 

steering-wheel 
To  her  figurehead  of  silver  and  her  beak  of 

hammered  steel ; 
The  leg-bar  chafed  the  ankle,  and  we  gasped 

for  cooler  air, 
But  no  galley  on  the  water  with  our  galley 

could  compare ! 

Our  bulkheads  bulged  with  cotton  and  our 

masts  were  stepped  in  gold — 
We  ran  a  mighty  merchandise  of  niggers  in 

the  hold; 
The  white  foam  spun  behind  us,  and  the 

black  shark  swam  below, 
As  we  gripped  the  kicking  sweep-head  and 

we  made  that  galley  go. 

It  was  merry  in  the  galley,  for  we  revelled 

now  and  then — 
If  they  wore  us  down  like  cattle,  faith,  we 

fought  and'loved  like  men  ! 

(185) 


186  BALLADS. 

As  we  snatched  her  through  the  water,  so 

we  snatched  a  minute's  bliss, 
And  the  mutter  of  the  dying  never  spoiled 

the  lovers'  kiss. 

Our  women  and  our  children  toiled  beside 

us  in  the  dark — 
They   died,  we  filed  their  fetters,  and  we 

heaved  them  to  the  shark — 
We  heaved  them  to  the  fishes,  but  so  fast 

the  galley  sped, 
We  had  only  time  to  envy,  for  we  could  not 

mourn  our  dead. 

Bear  witness,  once  my  comrades,  what  a 

hard-bit  gang  were  we — 
The  servants  of   the   sweep-head,  but  the 

masters  of  the  sea ! 
By  the  hands  that  drove  her  forward  as  she 

plunged  and  yawed  and  sheered, 
Woman,  Man,  or  God,  or  Devil,  was  there 

anything  we  feared  ? 

Was  it  storm  ?    Our  fathers  faced  it,  and  a 

wilder  never  blew ; 
Earth  that  waited  for  the  wreckage  watched 

the  galley  struggle  through. 


THE  GALLEY-SLAVE.  187 

Burning  noon  or  choking  midnight,  Sick- 
ness, Sorrow,  Parting,  Death? 

Nay,  our  very  babes  would  mock  you,  had 
they  time  for  idle  breath. 

But  to-day  I  leave  the  galley,  and  anothel 
takes  my  place ; 

There's  my  name  upon  the  deck-beam — let 
it  stand  a  little  space. 

I  am  free — to  watch  my  messmates  beating 
out  to  open  main, 

Free  of  all  that  Life  can  offer — save  to  han- 
dle sweep  again. 

By  the  brand  upon  my  shoulder,  by  the  gall 

of  clinging  steel, 
By  the  welt  the  whips  have  left  me,  by  the 

scars  that  never  heal; 
By  eyes  grown  old  with  staring  through  the 

sun-wash  on  the  brine. 
I  am  paid  in  full  for  service — would  that 

service  still  were  mine ! 

Yet  they  talk  of  times  and  seasons  and  of 

woe  the  years  bring  forth, 
Of  our  galley  swamped  and  shattered  in  the 

rollers  of  the  North. 


188  BALLADS. 

When  the  niggers  break  the  hatches,  and  the 
decks  are  gay  with  gore, 

And  a  craven-hearted  pilot  crams  her  crash- 
ing on  the  shore. 

She  will  need  no  half-mast  signal,  minute- 
gun,  or  rocket-flare, 

When  the  cry  for  help  goes  seaward,  she 
will  find  her  servants  there. 

Battered  chain-gangs  of  the  orlop,  grizzled 
drafts  of  years  gone  by, 

To  the  bench  that  broke  their  manhood, 
they  shall  lash  themselves  and  die. 

Hale  and  crippled,  young  and  aged,  paid,. 

deserted,  shipped  away — 
Palace,  cot,  and  lazaretto  shall  make  np  the- 

tale  that  day, 
When  the  skies  are  black  above  them,  and 

the  decks  ablaze  beneath, 
And  the  top-men  clear  the  raffle  with  their 

clasp-knives  in  their  teeth. 

It  may  be  that  Fate  will  give  me  life  and 

leave  to  row  once  more — 
Set  some  strong  man  free  for  fighting  as  I 

take  awhile  his  oar. 


THE  EXPLANATION.  189 

But  to-day  I  leave  the  galley.     Shall  I  curse 

her  service  then  ? 
God  be  thanked — whate'er  comes  after,  I 

have  lived  and  toiled  with  Men  I 


The  Explanation. 

LOVE  and  Death  once  ceased  their  strife 

At  the  Tavern  of  Man's  Life. 

Called  for  wine,  and  threw — alas  ! — 

Each  his  quiver  on  the  grass. 

When  the  bout  was  o'er  they  found 

Mingled  arrows  strewed  the  ground. 

Hastily  they  gathered  then 

Each  the  loves  and  lives  of  men. 

Ah,  the  fateful  dawn  deceived ! 

Mingled  arrows  each  one  sheaved : 

Death's  dread  armory  was  stored 

With  the  shafts  he  most  abhorred  : 

Love's  light  quiver  groaned  beneath 

Venom-headed  darts  of  Death. 

Thus  it  was  they  wrought  our  woe 

At  the  Tavern  long  ago. 

Tell  me,  do  our  masters  know, 

Loosing  blindly  as  they  fly, 

Old  men  love  while  young  men  die? 


The  Conundrum  of  the  Workshops. 

WHEN  the  flush  of  a  new-born  sun  fell  first 

on  Eden's  green  and  gold, 
Our   father  Adam  sat  under  the  Tree  and 

scratched  with  a  stick  in  the  mould; 
And  the   first  rude  sketch  that  the  world 

had  seen  was  joy  to  his  mighty  heart, 
Till  the  Devil  whispered  behind  the  leaves : 

"  It's  pretty,  but  is  it  art?" 

Wherefore  he  called  to  his  wife,  and  fled  to 

fashion  his  work  anew — 
The  first  of  his  race  who  cared  a  fig  for  the 

first,  most  dread  review ; 
And  he  left  his  lore  to  the  use  of  his  sons — 

and  that  was  a  glorious  gain 
When  the  Devil  chuckled:  "Is  it  art?"  in 

the  ear  of  the  branded  Cain. 


They  builded  a  tower  to  shiver  the  sky  and 

wrench  the  stars  apart, 
Till  the  Devil  grunted  behind  the  bricks : 

"  It's  striking,  but  is  it  art?" 
(190) 


THE  CONUNDRUM  OF  THE  WORKSHOPS.     191 

The  stone  was  dropped  by  the  quarry-side, 

and  the  idle  derrick  swung, 
While  each  man  talked  of  the  aims  of  art, 

and  each  in  an  alien  tongue. 

They  fought  and  they  talked  in  the  north 

and  the  south,  they  talked  and  they  fought 

in  the  west, 
Till  the  waters  rose  on  the  jabbering  land, 

and  the  poor  Red  Clay  had  rest — 
Had  rest  till  the  dank   black-canvas  dawn 

when  the  dove  was  preened  to  start, 
And   the  Devil  bubbled   below   the  keel: 

"  It's  human,  but  is  it  art?" 

The  tale  is  old  as  the  Eden  Tree — as  new 

as  the  new-cut  tooth — 
For   each   man   knows   ere   his   lip-thatch 

grows  he  is  master  of  art  and  truth ; 
And  each  man  hears  as  the  twilight  nears, 

to  the  beat  of  his  dying  heart, 
The  Devil   drum   on  the  darkened   pane: 

u  You  did  it,  but  was  it  art  ' 

We  have  learned  to  whittle  the  Eden  Tree 
to  the  shape  of  a  surplice-peg,  ' 

We  have  learned  to  bottle  onr  parents  twain 
in  the  yolk  of  an  addled  egg, 


192  BALLADS. 

We  know  that  the  tail  must  wag  the  dog,  as 
the  horse  is  drawn  by  the  cart ; 

But  the  Devil  whoops,  as  he  whooped  of  old : 
"  It's  clever,  but  is  it  art?" 

When  the  flicker  of  London  sun  falls  faint 
on  the  club-room's  green  and  gold, 

The  sons  of  Adam  sit  them  down  and  scratch 
with  their  pens  in  the  mould — 

They  scratch  with  their  pens  in  the  mould 
of  their  graves,  and  the  ink  and  the  an- 
guish start 

When  the  Devil  mutters  behind  the  leaves: 
"  It's  pretty,  but  is  it  art?" 

Now,  if  we  could   win  to  the   Eden  Tree 

where  the  four  great  rivers  flow, 
And  the  wreath  of  Eve  is  red  on  the  turf  as 

she  left  it  long  ago, 
And  if  we  could  come  when  the  sentry  slept, 

and  softly  scurry  through, 
By  the  favor  of  God  we  might  know  as  much 

— as  our  father  Adam  knew. 


The  Gift  of  the  Sea. 

THE  dead  child  lay  in  the  shroud, 
And  the  widow  watched  beside  ; 

And  her  mother  slept,   and   the    Channel 

swept 
The  gale  in  the  teeth  of  the  tide. 

But  the  widow  laughed  at  all. 

"  I  have  lost  my  man  in  the  sea, 
And  the  child  is  dead.    Be  still,"  she  said, 

"  What  more  can  ye  do  to  me  ?" 

And  the  widow  watched  the  dead, 

And  the  candle  gutted  low, 
And  she  tried  to  sing  the  Passing  Song 

That  bids  the  poor  soul  go. 

And  "  Mary  take  you  now,"  she  sang, 

"  That  lay  against  my  heart." 
And  "  Mary  smooth  your  crib  to-night," 

But  she  could  not  say  "  Depart." 

12  (  193  ) 


BALLADS. 

Then  came  a  cry  from  the  sea, 

But  the  sea-rime  blinded  the  glass, 

And  "Heard   ye  nothing,   mother?"    she 

said; 
"  "Tis  the  child  that  waits  to  pass." 

And  the  nodding  mother  sighed. 

"  'Tis  a  lambing  ewe  in  the  whin, 
For  why  should  the  christened  soul  cry  out, 

That  never  knew  of  sin?" 

"  Oh,  feet  I  have  held  in  my  hand, 
Oh,  hands  at  my  heart  to  catch, 

How  should  they  know  the  road  to  go, 
And  how  should  they  lift  the  latch?" 

They  laid  a  sheet  to  the  door, 

With  the  little  quilt  atop, 
That  it  might  not  hurt  from  the  cold  or  t*»e 
dirt, 

But  the  crying  would  not  stop. 

The  widow  lifted  the  latch 

And  strained  her  eyes  to  see, 
And  opened  the  door  on  the  bitter  shore 

To  let  the  soul  go  free. 


THE  GIFT  OF  THE  SEA.  195 

There  was  neither  glimmer  nor  ghost, 
There  was  neither  spirit  nor  spark, 

And  "  Heard  ye  nothing,  mother  ?"  she  said, 
"  'Tis  crying  for  me  in  the  dark." 

And  the  nodding  mother  sighed. 

"  'Tis  sorrow  makes  ye  dull; 
Have  ye  yet  to  learn  the  cry  of  the  tern, 

Or  the  wail  of  the  wind-blown  gull  ?" 

"  The  terns  are  blown  inland, 

The  gray  gull  follows  the  plough. 

'Twas  never  a  bird  the  voice  I  heard, 
0  mother,  I  hear  it  now  !" 

u  Lie  still,  dear  lamb,  lie  still ; 

The  child  is  passed  from  harm, 
'Tis  the  ache  in  your  breast  that  broke  your 
rest, 

And  the  feel  of  an  empty  arm." 

She  puts  her  mother  aside, 

"  In  Mary's  name  let  be ! 
For  the  peace  of  my  soul  I  must  go,"  she 
said, 

And  she  went  to  the  calling  sea. 


196  BALLADS. 

In  the  heel  of  the  wind-bit  pier, 
Where  the  twisted  weed  was  piled, 

She  came  to  the  life  she  had  missed  by  an 

hour, 
For  she  came  to  a  little  child. 

She  laid  it  into  her  breast, 

And  back  to  her  mother  she  came, 

But  it  would  not  feed,  and  it  would  not  heedj 
Though  she  gave  it  her  own  child's  name, 

And  the  dead  child  dripped  on  her  breast, 
And  her  own  in  the  shroud  lay  stark ; 

And,  "  God  forgive  us,  mother,"  she 
"  We  let  it  die  in  the  dark !" 


Evarra  and  His  Gods. 

Read  here, 

This  is  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  the  city  gave  him  of  her  gold, 
Because  the  caravans  brought  turquoises, 
Because  his  life  was  sheltered  by  the  King, 
So  that  no  man  should  maim  him,  none 

should  steal, 

Or  break  his  rest  with  babble  in  the  streets 
When  he  was  weary  after  toil,  he  made 
An  image  of  his  God  in  gold  and  pearl, 
With  turquoise  diadem  and  human  eyes, 
A  wonder  in  the  sunshine,  known  afar 
And  worshipped  by  the  King ;  but,  drunk 

with  pride, 

Because  the  city  bowed  to  him  for  God, 
He  wrote  above  the  shrine :  "  Thus  Gods 

are  made, 

And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shatt  die.n 
And  all  the  city  praised  him.  .  .  .  Then 
he  died. 

(197) 


198  BALLADS. 

Jlead  here  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  his  city  had  no  wealth  to  give, 
Because  the  caravans  were  spoiled  afar, 
Because  his  life  'was  threatened  by  the 

King, 

So  that  all  men  despised  him  in  the  streets, 
He  hacked  the  living  rock,  with  sweat  and 

tears, 

And  reared  a  God  against  the  morning- 
gold, 

A  terror  in  the  sunshine,  seen  afar, 
And  worshipped  by  the  King ;  but,  drunk 

with  pride, 

Because  the  city  fawned  to  bring  him  back, 
He  carved  upon  the  plinth :  "  Thus  Gods 

are  made, 

And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die." 
And  all  the  people  praised  him. . . .  Then 
he  died. 

Read  here  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  he  lived  among  a  simple  folk, 
Because  his  village  was  between  the  hills, 
Because  he  smeared  his  cheeks  with  blood 
of  ewes, 


EVARBA  AND  HIS  GODS.  199 

He  cut  an  idol  from  a  fallen  pine, 
Smeared    blood    upon    its    cheeks,    and 

wedged  a  shell 

Above  its  brows  for  eye,  and  gave  it  hair 
Of  trailing  moss,  and  plaited  straw  for 

crown. 
And  all  the  village  praised  him  for  this 

craft, 
And  brought  him  butter,  honey,  milk,  and 

curds. 
Wherefore,  because  the  shoutings  drove 

him  mad, 
He  scratched  upon  that  log :  "  Thus  Gods 

are  made, 

And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die." 
And  all  the  people  praised  him.  .  .  .  Then 

he  died. 

Read  here  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Because  his  God  decreed  one  clot  of  blood 
Should  swerve  a  hair's-breadth  from  the 

pulse's  path, 

And  chafe  his  brain,  Evarra  mowed  alone, 
Rag- wrapped,  among  the  cattle  in  the  fields, 
Counting  his  fingers,  jesting  with  the  trees, 
And  mocking  at  the  mist,  until  his  God 


200  BALLADS. 

Drove  him  to  labor.  Out  of  dung  and 
horns 

Dropped  in  the  mire  he  made  a  mon- 
strous God, 

Abhorrent,  shapeless,  crowned  with  plan- 
tain tufts. 

And  when  the  cattle  lowed  at  twilight- 
time, 

He  dreamed  it  was  the  clamor  of  lost 
crowds, 

And  howled  among  the  beasts :    "  Thus 

,  Gods  are  made, 

And  whoso  makes  them  otherwise  shall  die." 

Thereat  the  cattle  bellowed.  .  .  .  Then 
he  died. 

Yet  at  the  last  he  came  to  Paradise, 

And  found  his  own  four  Gods,  and  that 

he  wrote; 

And  marvelled,  being  very  near  to  God, 
What  oaf  on  earth  had  made  his  toil  God's 

law, 
Till  God  said,  mocking :  "Mock not.  These 

be  thine." 
Then  cried  Evarra :    "I  have  sinned !"— 

"  Not  so. 
If  thou  hadst  written  otherwise,  thy  Gods 


F.VARRA  AND  HIS  GODS.  201 

Had  rested  in  the  mountain  and  the  mine, 
And   I  were  poorer   by  four  wondrous 

Gods, 
And  thy  more   wondrous    law,   Evarra. 

Thine, 
Servant  of  shouting  crowds  and  lowing 

kine." 
Thereat  with  laughing  mouth,  but  tear-wet 

eyes, 
Evarra  cast  his  Gods  from  Paradise. 

This  is  the  story  of  Evarra — man — 
Maker  of  Gods  in  lands  beyond  the  sea. 


Public  Waste. 

WALPOLE  talks  of  "a  mau  and  his  price." 
List  to  a  ditty  queer— 

The  sale  of  a  Deputy- Acting- Vice- 
Resident-Engineer, 

Bought  like  a  bullock,  hoof  and  hide, 

By  the  Little  Tin  Gods  on  the  Mountain  Side. 

BY  the  Laws  of  the  Family  Circle  'tis  writ- 
ten  in  letters  of  brass 

That  only  a  Colonel  from  Chatham  can  man- 
age the  Railways  of  State, 

Because  of  the  gold  on  his  breeks,  and  the 
subjects  wherein  he  must  pass ; 

Because  in  all  matters  that  deal  not  with 
Railways  his  knowledge  is  great. 

Now  Exeter  Battleby  Tring  had  labored 
from  boyhood  to  eld 

On  the  lines  of  the  East  and  the  West,  and 
eke  of  the  North  and  South  ; 

Many  Lines  had  he  built  and  surveyed — im- 
portant the  posts  which  he  held ; 

And  the  Lords  of  the  Iron  Horse  were  dumb 
when  he  opened  his  mouth. 
(  202  ) 


PUBLIC  WASTE.  203 

Black  as  the  raven  his  garb,  and  his  heresies 

jettier  still — 
Hinting  that  Railways  required  lifetimes  of 

study  and  knowledge ; 
Never  clanked  sword  by  his  side — Vauban 

he  knew  not,  nor  drill — 
Nor  was  his  name  on  the  list  of  the  men  who 

had  passed  through  the  "  College." 

Wherefore  the  Little  Tin  Gods  harried  their 
little  tin  souls, 

Seeing  he  came  not  from  Chatham,  jingled 
no  spurs  at  his  heels, 

Knowing  that,  nevertheless,  was  he  first  on 
the  Government  rolls 

For  the  billet  of  "  Railway  Instructor  to  Lit- 
tle Tin  Gods  on  Wheels." 


Letters  not  seldom  they  wrote  him,  "  having 

the  honor  to  state," 
It  would  be  better  for  all  men  if  he  were  laid 

on  the  shelf: 
Much  would  accrue  to  his  bank-book,  and 

he  consented  to  wait 
Until  the  Little  Tin  Gods  built  him  a  berth 

for  himself. 


204  BALLADS. 

"Special,  well-paid,  and  exempt  from  the 

Law  of  the  Fifty  and  Five, 
Even  to  Ninety  and  Nine  " — these  were  the 

terms  of  the  pact : 
Thus  did  the  Little  Tin   Gods  (long  may 

Their  Highnesses  thrive !) 
Silence  his  mouth  with  rupees,  keeping  their 

Circle  intact ; 

Appointing  a  Colonel  from  Chatham  who 

managed  the  Bhamo  State  line, 
(The  which  was  one  mile  and  one  furlong — 

a  guaranteed  twenty-inch  gauge). 
So   Exeter   Battleby  Tring    consented    his 

claims  to  resign, 
And  died,  on  four  thousand  a  month,  in  the 

ninetieth  year  of  his  age. 


The  Last  Department 

TWELVE  hundred  million  men  are  spread 

About  this  Earth,  and  I  and  You 
Wonder,  when  You  and  I  are  dead, 

What  will  those  luckless  millions  do  ? 

"  NONE  whole  or  clean,"  we  cry,  "  or  free 

from  stain 

Of  favor.' '    Wait  awhile,  till  we  attain 
The  Last  Department,  where  no  fraud  nor 

fools, 
Nor  grade  nor  greed,  shall  trouble  us  again. 

Fear,  Favor  or  Affection — what  are  these 
To  the  grim  Head  who  claims  our  services  ? 

I  never  knew  a  wife  or  interest  yet 
Delay  that  pukka  step,  miscalled  "  decease  ;' ' 

When  leave,  long  over-due,  none  can  deny  • 
When  idleness  of  all  Eternity 

Becomes  our  furlough,  and  the  marigold 
Our  thriftless,  bullion-minting  Treasury. 

Transferred  to  the  Eternal  Settlement, 
Each  in  his  straight,  wood-scantled  office 

pent, 

No  longer  Brown  reverses  Smith's  appeals, 
Or  Jones  records  his  Minute  of  Dissent. 

(205) 


206  BALLADS. 

And  One,  long  since  a  pillar  of  the  Court, 
As  mud    between    the    beams    thereof   is 

wrought ; 
And  One  who  wrote  on  phosphates  for  the 

crops 
Is  subject-matter  of  his  own  Report. 

(These   be   the   glorioua    ends  whereto  we 

pass — 

Let  Him  who  Is,  go  call  on  Him  who  Was ; 
And  He  shall  see  the  mallie  steals  the  slab 
For  currie-grinder,  and  for  goats  the  grass.) 

A  breath  of  wind,  a  Border  bullet's  flight, 
A  draught  of  water,  or  a  horse's  fright — 

The  droning  of  the  fat  Sheristadar 
Ceases,  the  punkah  stops,  and  falls  the  night 

For  you  or  Me.     Do  those  who  live  decline 
The  step  that  offers,  or  their  work  resign  ? 
Trust  me,  To-day's  Most  Indispensables, 
Five  hundred  men  can  take  your  place  or 
mine. 


Possibilities. 

AY,  lay  him  'neath  the  Simla  pine — 
A  fortnight  fully  to  be  missed, 
Behold,  we  lose  our  fourth  at  whist, 

A  chair  is  vacant  where  we  dine. 

His  place  forgets  him ;  other  men 
Have  bought  his  ponies,  guns,  and  traps, 
His  fortune  is  the  Great  Perhaps 

And  that  cool  rest-house  down  the  glen, 

Whence  he  shall  hear,  as  spirits,  may, 
Our  mundane  revel  on  the  height, 
Shall  watch  each  flashing  'rickshaw-light 

Sweep  on  to  dinner,  dance,  and  play. 

Benmore  shall  woo  him  to  the  ball 
With  lighted  rooms  and  braying  band, 
And  he  shall  hear  and  understand 

"  Dream  Faces  "  better  than  us  all. 

For,  think  you,  as  the  vapors  flee 
Across  Sanjaolie  after  rain, 
His  soul  may  climb  the  hill  again 

To  each  old  field  of  victory. 

(207) 


208  BALLADS. 

Unseen,  who  women  held  so  dear, 

The  strong  man's  yearning  to  his  kind 
Shall  shake  at  most  the  window-blind, 

Or  dull  awhile  the  card-room's  cheer. 

In  his  own  place  of  power  unknown, 
His  Light  o'  Love  another's  flame, 
His  dearest  pony  galloped  lame, 

And  he  an  alien  and  alone. 

Yet  may  he  meet  with  many  a  friend — 
Shrewd  shadows,  lingering  long  unseec 
Among  us  when  "  God  save  the  Queen  " 

Shows  even  "extras  "  have  an  end. 

And,  when  we  leave  the  heated  room, 
And,  when  at  four  the  lights  expire. 
The  crew  shall  gather  round  the  fire 

And  mock  our  laughter  in  the  gloom. 

Talk  as  we  talked,  and  they  ere  death — 
First  wanly,  dance  in  ghostly  wise, 
With  ghosts  of  tunes  for  melodies, 

And  vanish  at  the  morning's  breath. 


In  Springtime. 

MY  garden  blazes  brightly  with  the  rose- 
bush and  the  peach, 
And  the  koil  sings  above  it,  in  the  siris  by 

the  well, 
From  the  creeper-covered  trellis  comes  the 

squirrel's  chattering  speech, 
And  the    blue-jay  screams    and   nutters 

where  the  cherry  sat-bhai  dwell. 
But  the  rose  has  lost  its  fragance,  ana  the 

koil's  note  is  strange ; 
I   am   sick  of  endless  sunshine,  sick  of 

blossom-burdened  bough. 
Give  me  back  the  leafless  woodlands  where 

the  winds  of  Springtime  range — 
Give  me  back  one  day  in  England,  for  it's 

Spring  in  England  now ! 
Through  the  pines  the  gusts  are  booming, 

o'er  the  brown  fields  blowing  chill, 
From    the    furrow    of    the    ploughshare 
streams  the  fragrance  of  the  loam, 

(  209  ) 


210  BALLADS. 

And  the  hawk  nests  on  the  cliff-side  and  the 

jackdaw  in  the  hill, 
And  my  heart  is  back  in  England  mid  the 

sights  and  sounds  of  Home. 
But  the  garland  of  the  sacrifice  this  wealth 

of  rose  and  peach  is ; 
Ah!    kott,  little  Jcoil,  singing  on  the  siria 

bough, 
In  my  ears  the  knell  of  exile  your  ceaseless 

bell-like  speech  is — 

Can  you  tell  me  aught  of  England  or  of 
Spring  in  England  now  ? 


A  Ballade  of  Jakko  Hill. 

ONE  moment  bid  the  horses  wait,  - 

Since  tiffin  is  not  laid  till  three, 
Below  the  upward  path  and  straigm 

You  climbed  a  year  ago  with  me. 
Love  came  upon  us  suddenly 

And  loosed — an  idle  hour  to  kill — 
A  headless,  armless  armory 

That  smote  us  both  on  Jakko  Hill. 


Ah  Heaven  !  we  would  wait  and  wait 

Through  Time  and  to  Eternity  ! 
Ah  Heaven !  wt>  could  conquer  Fate 

With  more  than  Godlike  constancy  I 
I  cut  the  date  upon  a  tree — 

Here  stand  the  clumsy  figures  still  :-- 
"  10-7-85,  A.D." 

Damp  with  the  mist  on  Jakko  Hill. 

What  came  of  high  resolve  and  great, 

A*id  until  Death  fidelity  ? 
Whose  horse  is  waiting  at  your  .gate? 

Whose  'rickshaw-wheels  ride  over  me  ? 

(211) 


212  BALLADS. 

No  Saint's,  I  swear ;  and — let  me  see 
To-night  what  names  your  programme 
fill— 

We  drift  asunder  merrily, 

As  drifts  the  mist  on  Jakko  Hill ! 

L'ENVOI. 

Princess,  behold  our  ancient  state 

Has  clean  departed ;  and  we  see 
Twas  Idleness  we  took  for  Fate 

That  bound  light  bonds  on  you  and  me. 
Amen !  Here  ends  the  comedy 

Where  it  began  in  all  good  will ; 
Since  Love  and  Leave  together  flee 

As  driven  mist  on  Jakko  Hi]!  1 


The  Plea  of  the  Simla  Dancers. 

Too  late,  alas !  the  song 

To  remedy  the  wrong ; — 

The  rooms  are  taken  from  us,  swept  and  garnished  for  their 
fate. 

But  these  tear-besprinkled  pages 

Shall  attest  to  future  ages 
That  we  cried  against  the  crime  of  it— too  late,  alas !  too  latet 

"WHAT  have  we  ever   done  to  bear  this 

grudge  ?" 

Was  there  no  room  save  only  in  Benmore 
For  docket,  duftar,  and  for  office  drudge, 
That  you  usurp  our  smoothest  dancing 

floor? 

Must  babus  do  their  work  on  polished  teak  ? 
Are  ball-rooms  fittest  for  the  ink  you  spill  ? 
Was  there  no  other  cheaper  house  to  seek  ? 
You  might  have  left  them  all  at  Straw- 
berry Hill. 

We  never  harmed  you  !  Innocent  our  guise, 

Dainty  our  shining  feet,  our  voices  low ; 
And  we  revolved  to  divers  melodies, 

And  we  were  happy  but  a  year  ago.  - 
To-night,  the  moon  that  watched  our  light- 
some wiles — 

(213) 


214  BALLADS. 

That  beamed  upon  us  through  the  deo- 
dars— 

Is  wan  with  gazing  on  official  files, 
And  desecrating  desks  disgust  the  stars. 

Nay  !  by  the  memory  of  tuneful  nights — 

Nay  !  by  the  witchery  of  flying  feet — 
Nay  !  by  the  glamour  of  fordone  delights — 
By  all  things  merry,  musical,  and  meet — 
By  wine  that  sparkled,  and  by  sparkling 

eyes — 
By  wailing    waltz — by    reckless  gallop's 

strain — 
By  dim  verandas  and  by  soft  replies, 

Give    us    our    ravished    ball-room   back 
again ! 

Or — hearken  to  the  curse  we  lay  on  you  ! 
The  ghosts  of  waltzes  shall  perplex  your 

brain, 

And  murmurs  of  past  merriment  pursue 
Your  'wildered  clerks  that  they  indite  in 

vain; 
And,  when  you  count  your  poor  Provincial 

millions, 

The    only  figures  that    your    pen    shall 
frame 


THE  PLEA  OF  THE  SIMLA  DANCERS.       215 

Shall  be  the  figures  of  dear,  dear  cotillions 
Danced  out  in  tumult  long  before  you 
came. 

Yea  !  "  See  Saw  "  shall  upset  your  estimates, 

"  Dream  Faces "  shall  your  heavy  heads 

bemuse, 
Because  your  hand,  unheeding,  desecrates 

Our  temple ;  fit  for  higher,  worthier  use. 
And  all  the  long  verandas,  eloquent 

With  echoes  of  a  score  of  Simla  years, 
Shall  plague  you  with  unbidden  sentiment — 

Babbling  of   kisses,   laughter,  love,  and 
tears. 

So   shall  you  mazed  amid    old    memories 

stand, 
So  shall  you  toil,  and  shall  accomplish 

nought, 
And  ever  in  your  ears  a  phantom  Band 

Shall  blare  away  the  staid  official  thought. 
Wherefore — and  ere    this    awful    curse    be 

spoken, 

Cast  out  your  swarthy  sacrilegious  train, 
And  give — ere  dancing  cease  and  hearts  be 

broken — 
Give  us  our  ravished  ball-room  back  again  I 


Two  Months. 

/ 

IN  JUNE. 

NO  hope,  no  change  !     The  clouds  have 

shut  us  in, 
And  through  the   cloud  the   sullen   Sun 

strikes  down 
Full  on  the  bosom  of  the  tortured  Town. 

Till  Night  falls  heavy  as  remembered  sin 
That  will  not  suffer  sleep  or  thought  of 

ease. 
And,  hour  on  hour,  the  dry-eyed  Moon 

in  spite 
Glares  through  the  haze  and  mocks  with 

watery  light 
The  torment  of  the  uncomplaining  trees. 

(216) 


TWO  MONTHS.  217 

Far  off,  the  Thunder  bellows  her  despair 
To  echoing  Earth,   thrice  parched.     The 

lightnings  fly 
In  vain.     No  help  the  heaped-up  clouds 

afford, 
But  wearier  weight  of  burdened,  burning 

air. 
"What  truce  with  Dawn  ?     Look,  from  the 

aching  sky, 
Day  stalks,  a  tyrant  with  a  flaming  sword  1 


Two  Months. 

IN  SEPTEMBER. 

AT  dawn  there  was  a  murmur  in  the  trees, 
A  ripple  on  the  tank,  and  in  the  air 
Presage  of  coming  coolness — everywhere 
A  voice  of  prophecy  upon  the  breeze. 
Up  leapt  the  Sun  and  smote  the  dust  to 

gold, 
And  strove  to  parch  anew  the  heedless 

land, 

All  impotently,  as  a  King  grown  old 
"Wars  for  the  Empire  crumbling  'neath 
his  hand, 

One  after  one,  the  lotos-petals  fell, 
Beneath  the  onslaught  of  the  rebel  year 
In  mutiny  against  a  furious  sky ; 
And   far-off   Winter  whispered: — "It  is 

well! 
"  Hot  Summer  dies.     Behold  your  help  is 

near, 
"For  when  men's    need  is   sorest,  then 

come  I." 

(218) 


The  Moon  of  Other  Days. 

BENEATH  the  deep  verandah's  shade, 

When  bats  begin  to  fly, 
I  sit  me  down  and  watch — alas 

Another  evening  die. 
Blood-red  behind  the  sere  ferash 

She  rises  through  the  haze. 
Sainted  Diana  !   can  that  be 

The  Moon  of  Other  Days ! 

Ah!   shade  of  little  Kitty  Smith, 

Sweet  Saint  of  Kensington  ! 
Say,  was  it  ever  thus  at  Home 

The  Moon  of  August  shone, 
When  arm  in  arm  we  wandered  long 

Through  Putney's  evening  haze. 
And  Hammersmith  was  Heaven  beneath 

The  Moon  of  Other  Days? 

(219) 


220  BALLADS. 

But  Wandle's  stream  is  Sutlej  now, 

And  Putney's  evening  haze 
The  dust  that  half  a  hundred  kine 

Before  my  window  raise. 
Unkempt,  unclean,  athwart  the  mist 

The  seething  city  looms, 
In  place  of  Putney's  golden  gorse 

The  sickly  babul  blooms. 

Glare  down,  old  Hecate,  through  the  dust 

And  bid  the  pie-dog  yell, 
Draw  from  the  drain  its  tj^phoid  germ, 

From  each  bazar  its  smell ; 
Yea,  suck  the  fever  from  the  tank 

And  sap  my  strength  therewith : 
Thank  Heaven,  you  show  a  smiling  face 

To  little  Kitty  Smith  ! 


The  Fall  of  Jock  Gillespie.-. 

THIS  fell  when  dinner-time  was  done — 
'Twixt  the  first  an'  the  second  rub — 

That  oor  mon  Jock  cam'  hame  again 
To  his  rooms  ahint  the  Club. 

An'  syne  he  laughed,  an'  syne  he  sang, 

An'  syne  we  thocht  him  fou, 
An'  syne  he  trumped  his  partner's  trick, 

An'  garred  his  partner  rue. 

Then  up  and  spake  an  elder  mon,. 

That  held  the  Spade  its  Ace — 
' '  God  save  the  lad  !    Whence  comes  thej 
licht 

"  That  wimples  on  his  face?" 

An'    Jock    he    sniggered,    an?    Jock    he 
smiled, 

An'  ower  the  card-brim  wunk : — 
"  I'm  a'  too  fresh  frar  the  stirrup-peg, 

"May  be  that  I  am  drunk." 

(221) 


222  BALLADS. 

"  There's  whusky  brewed  in  Galashiels, 

"An'  L.  L.  L.  forbye ; 
' '  But  never  liquor  lit  the  low 

"  That  keeks  fra'  oot  your  eye. 

"  There's  a  thrid  o'  hair  on  your  dress- 
coat  breast, 

"Aboon  the  heart  a  wee?  " 
"  Oh  !  that  is  fra'  the  lang-haired  Skye 

"That  slobbers  ower  me." 

"Oh  !  lang-haired  Skyes  are  lovin'  beasts, 

"An'  terrier  dogs  are  fair, 
"  But  never  yet  was  terrier  born, 

"  Wi'  ell-lang  gowden  hair ! 

"There's  a   smirch   o'  pouther   on  your 
breast, 

"  Below  the  left  lappel  ?  " 
"  Oh  !  that  is  fra'  my  auld  cigar, 

"  Whenas  the  stump-end  fell." 

"Mon  Jock,  ye  smoke  the  Trichi  coarse, 

'•  For  ye  are  short  o'  cash. 
"An'  best  Havannahs  couldna  leave, 

"  Sae  white  an'  pure  an  ash. 


TEE  FALL  OF  JOCK  GlLLESPIE.       223- 

"  This  nicht  ye  stopped  a  story  braid, 

"An'  stopped  it  wi'  a  curse — 
"  Last  nicht  ye  told  that  tale  yoursel, 

"An  capped  it  wi'  a  worse  ! 

"Oh  !  we're  no  fou  !  Oh  !  we're  no  fou  ! 

"  But  plainly  we  can  ken 
"  Ye're  fallin',  fallin',  fra'  the  band 

"  O'  cantie  single  men  !  " 

An'  it  fell  when  sirns-shaws  were  sere, 
An'  the  nichts  were  lang  and  mirk, 

In  braw  new  breeks,  wi'  a  gowden  ring,. 
Oor  Jockie  gaed  to  the  Kirk. 


The  Rupaiyat  of  Omar  Kal'vin. 

[Allowing  for  the  difference  'twixt  prose  and  rhymed 
exaggeration,  this  ought  to  reproduce  the  sense  of  what  Sir 

A told  the  nation  some  time  ago,  when  the  Government 

struck  from  our  incomes  two  per  cent.] 

NOW  the  New  Year,  reviving  last  Year's 

Debt, 
The  Thoughtful  Fisher   casteth   wide  his 

Net; 

So  I  with  begging  Dish  and  ready  Tongue 
Assail  all  Men  for  all  that  I  can  get. 

Imports  indeed  are  gone  with   all  their 

Dues — 
Lio !  Salt  a  Lever  that  I  dare  not  use, 

Nor  may  I  ask  the  Tillers  in  Bengal — 
Surely  my  Kith  and  Kin  will  not  refuse 

Pay — and  I  promise  by  the  Dust  of  Spring, 
Retrenchment.     If  my  promises  can  bring 
Comfort,  Ye  have  Them  now  a  thousand- 
fold— 

By  Allah  !  I  will  promise  Anything  ! 
(224) 


THE  B UPAIYA  T  OF  OMAR  KAU  VIN.    225 

Indeed,  indeed,  Retrenchment  oft  before 
I  swore — but  did  I  mean  it  when  I  swore?' 
And  then,  and  then,  We  wandered  to 

the  Hills, 
And  so  the  Little  Less  became  Much  More. 


Whether  at  Boileaugunge  or  Babylon, 

I  know   not  how  the  wretched  Thing  is 

done, 

The  Items  of  Receipt  grow  surely  small ; 
The  Items  of  Expense  mount  one  by  one. 


I  cannot  help  it.     What  have  I  to  do 
With  One  and  Five,  or  Four,  or  Three,  or 

Two? 
Let  Scribes  spit  Blood  and  Sulphur  as 

they  please, 
Or  Statesmen  call  me  foolish — Heed  not 

you. 


Behold,  I  promise — Anything  You  will. 
Behold,  I  greet  you  with  an  empty  Till — 

Ah  !  Fellow-Sinners,  of  your  Charity 
Seek  not  the  Reason  of  the  Dearth  but  fill. 


226  BALLADS. 

For  if  I  sinned  and  fell,  where  lies  the  Gain 
Of  Knowledge?    Would  it  ease  you  of 

your  Pain 

To  know  the  tangled  Threads  of  Reve- 
nue, 
I  ravel  deeper  in  a  hopeless  Skein  V 

"Who  hath  not  Prudence  " — what  was  it 

I  said, 
Of  Her  who  paints  her  Eyes  and  tires  Her 

Head, 
And  jibes  and  mocks  the  People  in  the 

Street, 
And  fawns  upon  them  for  Her  thriftless 

Bread  ? 

Accursed  is  She  of  Eve's  daughters — She 
Hath  cast  off  Prudence,  and  Her  End  shall 

be 
Destruction  ....  Brethren,   of    your 

Bounty  grant 
Some  portion  of  your  daily  Bread  to  Me. 


What  Happened. 

HURKEE  Chunder   Mookerjee,   pride  of 

Bow  Bazar, 
Owner  of  a  native  press,  "  Barrishter-at- 

Lar." 
Waited  on  the  Government  with  a  claim 

to  wear 
Sabres  by  the  bucketful,  rifles  by  the  pair. 

Then  the  Indian   Government  winked  a 

wicked  wink, 
Said  to  Chunder  Mookerjee:    "Stick  to 

pen  and  ink. 
They  are  safer  implements,    but,  if  you 

insist, 
We  will  let  you  carry  arms  wheresoe'er 

you  list." 

Hurree   Chunder    Mookerjee    sought  the 

gunsmith  and 
Bought  the  tubes  of  Lancaster,  Ballard, 

Dean,  and  Bland, 

(227) 


•  228  BALLADS. 

Bought  a    shiny    bowie-knife,    bought    a 

town-made  sword, 
Jingled  like  a  carriage-horse  when  he  went 

abroad. 

But  the  Indian  Government,  always  keen 

to  please, 
Also  gave  permission  to  horrid  men  like 

these — 
Yar  Mahommed  Yusufzai,  down  to  kill  or 

steal, 
Chimbu  Singh  from  Bikaneer,  Tantia  the 

Bhil. 

Killar  Khan  the  Marri  chief,  Jowar  Singh 

the  Sikh, 
Nnbbee   Baksh   Punjabi   Jat,  Abdul   Huq 

Rafiq — 

He  was  a  Wahabi ;  last,  little  Boh  Hla-oo 
Took  advantage  of  the  act — took  a  Snider 

too. 

They   were   unenlightened   men,    Ballard 

knew  them  not, 
They  procured   their    swords    and    guns 

chiefly  on  the  spot, 


WHAT  HAPPENED.  229 

And  the  lore  of  centuries,  plus  a  hundred 

fights, 
Made  them  slow  to  disregard  one  another's 

rights. 

"With  a  unanimity  dear  to  patriot  hearts 
All  those  hairy  gentlemen  out  of  foreign 

parts 
Said :  "  The  good  old  days  are  back — let 

us  go  to  war  !  " 
Swaggered  down  the  Grand  Trunk  Road 

into  Bow  Bazar. 

Nubbee  Baksh  Punjabi  Jat  found  a  hide- 
bound flail, 

Chimbu  Singh  from  Bikaneer  oiled  his 
Tonk  jezaO, 

Yar  Mahommed  Yusufzai  spat  and  grinned 
with  glee 

As  he  ground  the  butcher-knife  of  the 
Khyberee. 

Jowar  Singh  the  Sikh  procured  sabre, quoit 

and  mace, 
Abdul  Huq,Wahabi,  took  the  dagger  from 

its  place, 


230  BALLADS. 

While  amid  the  jungle-grass  danced  and 

grinned  and  jabbered 
Little  Boh  Hla-oo  and  cleared  the  dah- 

blade  from  the  scabbard. 

What  became  of  Mookerjee  ?   Soothly,who 

can  say  ? 
Yar  Mahommed   only  grins   in   a    nasty 

way, 
Jowar  Singh  is  reticent,  Chimbu  Singh  is 

mute, 
But  the  belts  of  all  of  them  simply  bulge 

with  loot. 

What  became  of  Ballard's  guns?  Afghans 
black  and  grubby 

Sell  them  for  their  silver  weight  to  the 
men  of  Pubbi ; 

And  the  shiny  bowie-knife  and  the  town- 
made  sword  are 

Hanging  in  a  Marri  camp  just  across  the 
Border. 

What  became  of  Mookerjee?  Ask  Mahom- 
med Yar 

Prodding  Siva's  sacred  bull  down  the  Bow 
Bazar. 


WHAT  HAPPENED,  231 

Speak  to  placid  Nubbee  Baksh — question 

land  and  sea — 
Ask  the  Indian  Congress  men — only  don't 

ask  me ! 


Study  of  an  Elevation,  in  Indian  Ink. 

This  ditty  is  a  string  of  lies. 

But— how  the  deuce  did  Gubbins  rise  ? 

POTIPHAK  Gubbins,  C.  E., 

Stands  at  the  top  of  the  tree ; 

And  I  muse  in  my  bed  on  the  reasons  that 

led 
To  the  hoisting  of  Potiphar  G. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  seven  years  junior  to  Me; 
Each  bridge  that  he  makes  either  buckles 

or  breaks, 
And  his  work  is  as  rough  as  he. 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  coarse  as  a  chimpanzee ; 
And  I  can't  understand  why  you  gave  him 

your  hand, 

Lovely  Mehitabel  Lee. 
(232) 


STUDY  OF  AN  ELEVATION.          233 

Potiphar  Gubbins,  C.  E., 
Is  dear  to  the  Powers  that  Be ; 
For  They  bow  and  They  smile  in  an  affable 

style, 
Which  is  seldom  accorded  to  Me. 

Potiphar  Gubbina,  C.  E., 
Is  certain  as  certain  can  be 
Of  a  highly  paid  post  which  is  claimed  by 

a  host 
Of  seniors — including  Me. 

Careless  and  lazy  is  he, 
Greatly  inferior  to  Me. 
What  is  the  spell  that  you  manage  so  well 
Commonplace  Potiphar  G.  ? 

Lovely  Mehitabel  Lee, 
Let  me  inquire  of  thee, 
Should  I  have  riz  to  what  Potiphar  is 
Hadst  thou  been  mated  to  Me  ? 


The  Vampire. 


[The  verses— as  suggested  by  the  painting  by  Philip  Burne- 
Jones,  first  exhibited  at  the  new  gallery  in  London  in  1897.] 


A  FOOL  there  was  and  lie  made  his  prayer 
(Even  as  you  and  I !) 
To  a  rag  and  a  bone  and  a  hank  of  hair 
(We  called  her  the  woman  who  did  not 

care), 

Bat  the  fool  he  called  her  his  lady  fair 
(Even  as  you  and  I !) 


Oh  the  years  we  waste  and  the  tears  we 

waste 

And  the  work  of  our  head  and  hand, 
Belong  to  the  woman  who  did  not  know 
(And  now  we  know  that  she  never  could 

know) 
And  did  not  understand. 

(234) 


THE  VAMPIRE.  235 

A  fool  there  was  and  his  goods  he  spent 

(Even  as  you  and  I !) 

Honor  and  faith  and  a  sure  intent 

(And  it  wasn't  the  least  what  the  lady 

meant) , 

But  a  fool  must  follow  his  natural  bent 
(Even  as  you  and  I !) 


Oh  the  toil  we  lost  and  the  spoil  we  lost 
And  the  excellent  things  we  planned, 
Belong  to  the  woman   who  didn't  know 

why 
(And    now  we    know    she    never    knew 

why) 
And  did  not  understand. 


The  fool  was  stripped  to  his  foolish  hide 

(Even  as  you  and  I !) 

Which   she    might  have  seen   when   she 

threw  him  aside — 

(But  it  isn't  on  record  the  lady  tried) 
So  some  of  him  lived  but  the  most  of  him 

died — 
(Even  as  you  and  I !) 


236  BALLADS. 

And  it  isn't  the  shame  and  it  isn't  the 

blame 

That  stinga  like  a  white  hot  brand. 
It's  coming  to  know  that  she  never  knew 

why 

(Seeing  at  last  she  could  never  know  why) 
And  never  could  understand. 


Recessional. 

A  Victorian  Ode. 

GOD  of  our  fathers,  known  of  old — 
Lord  of  our  far-flung  battle  line — 
Beneath  whose  awful  hand  we  hold 
Dominion  over  palm  and  pine — 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget ! 

The  tumult  and  the  shouting  dies — 
The  Captains  and  the  Kings  depart — 
Still  stands  Thine  ancient  sacrifice, 
An  humble  and  a  contrite  heart, 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget ! 

Far- called  our  navies  melt  away — 
Ou  dune  and  headland  sinks  the  fire — 
Lo,  all  our  pomp  of  yesterday 
Is  one  with  Nineveh  and  Tyre  ! 
Judge  of  the  Nations,  spare  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget ! 

(237) 


238  BALLADS. 

If,  drunk  with  sight  of  power,  we  loose 
Wild  tongues  that  have  not  thee  in  awe — 
Such  boasting  as  the  Gentiles  use, 
Or  lesser  breeds  without  the  Law — 
Lord  God  of  Hosts,  be  with  us  yet, 
Lest  we  forget— lest  we  forget ! 

For  heathen  heart  that  puts  her  trust 
In  reeking  tube  and  iron  shard — 
All  valiant  dust  that  builds  on  dust, 
And  guarding  calls  not  Thee  to  guard. 
For  frantic  boast  and  foolish  word, 
Thy  Mercy  on  Thy  People  Lord  ! 

Amen. 


L'Envoi. 

(To  whom  it  may  concern.) 

THE  smoke  upon  your  Altar  dies, 

The  flowers  decay, 
The  Goddess  of  your  sacrifice 

Has  flown  away. 
What  profit  then  to  sing  or  slay 
The  sacrifice  from  day  to  day  ? 

"  We  know  the  Shrine  is  void,"  they  said, 

"  The  Goddess  flown— 
Yet  wreaths  are  on  the  Altar  laid — 

The  Altar-Stone 

Is  black  with  fumes  of  sacrifice, 
Albeit  She  has  fled  our  eyes. 

"  For,  it  may  be,  if  still  we  sing 

And  tend  the  Shrine, 
Some  Deity  on  wandering  wing 

May  there  incline ; 
And,  finding  all  in  order  meet, 
Stay  while  we  worship  at  Her  feet.* 

(  239) 


Glossary. 


AFBIDIS,  ...    An  Afghdn  clan  w&st  and  south  of 

Peshawar. 

ALLAH,    .    .    .    The  Mahommedan  name  for  God. 
ANNANDALE,     .    A   valley  near   Sir^da — the  Simla 

Racecourse,  etc. 
An  incarnation  on  earth  of  a  divine 

Being. 


AVATAR,  .  .  . 
BABU,  .... 
BABUL,  .  .  . 


BANDAR,  . 
BAZUGAR, 
BEGUM,  . 
BENMORE, 
BHAMO,  . 
BIKANEER, 
BOH,  .  . 


BOILEAUGUNGE, 

Bow  BAZAR,     . 

BRAHMIN,     .    . 
BRINJAREE,  .    . 

BUKHSHI,     .    . 
(  240  ^ 


A  title  such  as  "Mr.,"  used  fre- 
quently to  signify  a  Bengali 
clerk. 

A  small  thorny  mimosa  jungle  tree, 
blossoms  profusely  a  bright  yellow 
tassel-like  flower,  like  a  bullet, 
and  with  a  fragrance  resembling 
that  of  the  wallflower. 

A  monkey. 

One  who  exhibits  feats  of  activity. 

A  lady,  a  queen. 

The  old  Simla  Assembly  Rooms. 

A  district  in  Upper  Burma. 

A  state  in  Rajputana. 

A  captain  in  the  Burmese  native 
army. 

A  suburb  of  Simla,  named  after 
General  Boileau. 

One  of  the  principal  bazars  in  Cal- 
cutta. 

A  member  of  the  priestly  caste. 

The  Brinjarees  of  the  Deccan  are 
dealers  in  grain  and  salt. 

A  paymaster  in  the  Anglo-Indian 
army. 


GLOSSARY,  241 

BTTL-BUL,  .    .    .    The  Persian  nightingale. 

BUNNIA,  ...    A  corn  and  seed  merchant  or  dealer. 

BURSAT,  .  .  .  The  rains,  which  set  in  about  the 
middle  of  June — the  first  burst  of 
them  is  known  as  the  "  chota  bur- 
sat,"  or  small  rains — after  whicli 
there  is  generally  a  break  before 
the  regular  monsoon  sets  in. 

BURSATT,  .  .  .  A  disease  to  which  horses  are  liable 
during  the  rains. 

BYLE,  ....    A  bullock. 

CHARNOCK,  .  .  Job  Charnock,  the  founder  of  Cal- 
cutta. 

CHOTA  BURSAT,  see  "bursat." 

COLLISGA,  .  .  One  of  the  bazars  in  Calcutta  where 
most  of  the  demi-monde  resided. 

COOLY,      ...    A  hired  laborer,  or  burden-carrier. 

DAH  BLADE,      .    "Dah  "  is  a  short  Burmese  sword. 

DAK,  ....  "Post,"  i.e.,  properly,  transport  by 
relays  of  men  and  horses. 

DAK-BUNGALOW,  A  rest  house  for  travellers 

DARJEELING,  .  A  Sanitarium  in  the  Himalaya. 
The  summer  seat  of  the  Bengal 
Government. 

DEODARS,  .  „  The  "Cedrus  deodarus"  of  the 
Himalaya. 

DIBS,    ....    A  slang  term  for  money — rupees. 

DOM,  ....  The  name  of  a  very  low  caste  repre- 
senting some  old  aboriginal  race 
spread  all  over  India.  In  many 
places  they  perform  .such  offices 
as  carrying  dead  bodies,  remov- 
ing carrion,  etc. 

DUFTAK,  .  .  .  Book,  Journal,  Record — sometimes 
used  instead  of  "  duftar  khana  " 
for  "the  office." 

DTJSTOORIE,  .  .  A  commission  on  the  money  pass- 
ing in  any  cash  transaction. 


242 


GLOSSARY. 


DYKES,     .     .     .    A  firm  of  coach  builders  in  Calcutta. 

FERASH  (faras),  a  species  of  date-tree. 

FCLTAH,  ...     A   village  in  Bengal,   situated   on 

the  Hughli;  also  an  anchorage 

for  vessels. 

GARDEN  REACH,  The  reach  or  bend  forming  the 
entrance  to  the  Port  of  Calcutta 
— so  called  on  account  of  the  fine 
garden  residences  which  at  one 
time  lined  the  banks  of  the  river 
at  this  part. 

GHAT,  ....  A  mountain  pass,  landing  place,  or 
ferry. 

GHI,     ....    Boiled  or  clarified  butter. 

HAFIZ,     ...    A  guardian,  governor,  preserver 
HAMILTON,   .     .     Hamilton  &  Co.,  jewellers. 
HOOKUM,      .    .    An  order,  command. 
HOWRAH,      .     .     A  large  town  opposite  Calcutta. 
HUGHLI  (or  Hooghly).     One  of  the  principal  rivers 

of  Hindustan  on  which  Calcutta 

is  situated. 
HURNAI,  ...     A  pass  leading  from  Baluchistan  to 

Afghanistan. 

JAIN,  ....  The  non-Brahminical  sect  so-called 
— believed  now  to  represent  the 
earliest  heretics  of  Buddhism,  at 
present  chiefly  found  in  the  Bom- 
bay presidency.  The  Jains  are 
generally  merchants,  and  some 
have  been  men  of  immense  wealth. 

JAKKO,  ...  A  mountain  peak  in  the  Punjab — 
one  of  the  highest  of  the  Hima- 
laya on  which  Simla  is  situated. 

JAT,     ....     A  tribe  among  Rajputs. 

JAUN  BAZAR,  .  One  of  the  principal  bazars  in  Cal- 
cutta. 


GLOSSARY. 


243 


JEHANNUM,  .    .    Hades,  hell. 

JEMADAR,  .  .  The  second  native  officer  in  a  com- 
pany of  Sepoys. 

JKZAIL,  ...  A  heavy  Afghan  rifle,  fired  with  a 
forked  rest. 

JINGAL,  .  ,  .  A  small  piece  of  Burmese  artillery 
mounted  on  a  carriage,  managed 
by  two  men. 

JUNGI/E,  .    .     .    Forest,  or  other  wild  growth. 

JUTOGH,  ...  A  military  station  in  the  Punjab,  at 
the  entrance  of  Simla. 

KAFIR,     ...    An  unbeliever  in  the  Moslem  faith. 
KAKAHUTTI,     .    A  village  in  the  Punjab,  on  the 

road  to  Simla  from  the  plains. 
KALKA,    ...    A  villa  in  the  Punjab,  at  the  foot 

of   the   Himalaya,   on  the  road 

from  Umballa  to  Simla. 
KEDGEREE,  .    .    A  village  and  police  station  near 

the  mouth  of  the  Hughli ;   also 

an  anchorage  for  vessels. 
KITMUTGAES,    .     Table    servants — a    Mahommedan 

who  will  also  perform  the  duties 

of  a  valet. 
KHUD,      ...     A  precipitous    hill    side,   a    deep 

valley. 

KHYBAGHAUT,      A  halting  station  near  Simla. 
KHYBEREE  (Khaibari),  An  Afghan  tribe  inhabiting 

the  Khaibar  pass  in  Afghanistan. 
KorL,  ....     The  Indian  nightingale. 
KTJLLAH,      .    .    A  term  used  generally  by  Burmese 

forawesternforeigner,  a  stranger. 
KURRUM,      .     t     A  mountain  pass  into  Afghanistan 

from  the  Punjab. 

LAKH,      .    .    .    One  hundred  thousand  rupees. 

LANGTJR,  .  .  .  The  great  white-bearded  ape,  much 
patronized  by  Hindus,  and  identi- 
fied with  the  monkey-god,  Huni- 


244 


GLOSSARY. 


MAG,    ....    Natives  of  Arakan. 

MAHRATTA,  .  .  The  name  of  a  famous  Hindu  race. 
The  British  won  India  from  the 
two  Hindu  confederacies,  the 
Marathas  and  the  Sikhs. 

MALLIE,  ...    A  gardener. 

MASHOBRA,  .  .  A  village  and  hill  in  the  Punjab, 
near  Simla. 

MICHINI,  ...    A  fort  in  the  Punjab. 

MLECH,    .    .    .    One  without  caste. 

MOOLTAN,     .     .    A  district  in  the  Punjab. 

MARRI  (Murree),  A  Hill  Station  and  Sanitarium  in 
the  Punjab. 

MTJSTH,    ...    In  a  state  of  periodical  excitement, 

NAT,  ....  A  term  applied  to  all  spiritual 
beings,  angels,  elfs,  demon.-,  or 
what  not,  including  the  gods  of 
the  Hindus. 

OCTROI,    ...    A  municipal  tax. 

PADSE,  ...  A  priest,  clergyman,  or  minister  of 
the  Christian  religion. 

PEG,  ....  A  term  used  for  a  brandy  (or  other 
spirit)  and  soda. 

PELITI,     ...    A  well-known  confectioner. 

PICE,  ....  The  smallest  copper  coin — 12  pice 
=  1  anna,  16  annas  =  1  rupee. 

PUKKA.  .  .  .  Kipe,  mature,  cooked ;  and  hence 
substantial,  permanent,  with 
many  specific  applications.  One 
of  the  most  common  uses  in  which 
the  word  has  become  specific  is 
that  of  brick  and  mortar  in  con- 
tradistinction to  one  of  inferior 
material,  as  of  mud,  matting,  or 
timber. 

PUNJABI,  ...    A  native  of  the  Punjab. 


GLOSSARY.  245 

PUNKAH,  .  .  A  large  swinging  fan  suspended 
from  the  ceiling  and  pulled  by  a 
cooly. 

QTJETTA,  .  i  .  A  town  and  cantonment  in  Balu- 
chistan under  British  adminis- 
tration. 

RAJAH,    ...    A  native  chief. 

KAMA,  .  .  .  One  of  the  Puranic  Deities.  The 
hero  of  the  Sanskrit  epic,  the 
Ramayana. 

RANKEN,  .    .    .    Ranken  &  Co.,  tailors. 

'RICKSHAW,.  .  A  contraction  of  "Jinny  rick- 
shaw," a  two-wheeled  convey- 
ance drawn  by  a  cooly. 

RTJPAIYAT  of  Omar  Kal'vin,  a  play  on  Rubaiyat  of 
Omar  Khayyam,  signifying  (The 
Poem)  connected  with  rupees  of 
Omar  Kal'vin  (a  late  financial 
member  of  the  Viceroy' s  Council) . 

RYOT,  ....    A  tenant  of  the  soil. 

SAHIB,  ...  A  lord,  master,  companion,  gentle- 
man, commonly  used  to  denote  a 
European. 

SAMADH,  ...    A  cenotaph. 

SAT-BHAI  (lit.  the  seven  brothers),  a  species  of  thrush, 
so  called  from  the  birds  being 
gregarious,  and  usually  seven  of 
them  are  found  together. 

SHRAI,  ...  A  place  for  the  accommodation  of 
travellers,  a  khan,  a  caravansary. 

SHAITAKPOBB,  .  A  fictitious  name  for  a  place.  Shai- 
tan  signifies  the  Evil  One— pore, 
a  common  termination,  signifies 
a  city. 

SAEBISTADAK,  .  The  head  ministerial  officer  of  a 
court,  whose  duty  it  is  to  receive 
plaints. 


246 


GLOSSARY. 


SHIKAR,  . 

SHROFF,  . 
SIKH,   .    . 


"SlMPKIN," 

SIRIS,  .  .  . 
SIVA,  .  .  . 
SOLON,  .  . 

SUBADAR,       . 


STJTLEJ,    . 
SUTTEE,   .    . 

TAMARISKS, 


Sport,  hunting,  chase,  prey,  game, 
plunder,  perquisites. 

A  money-changer,  a  banker. 

A  "disciple,"  the  distinctive  name 
of  the  disciples  of  Nanak  Shah, 
who  in  the  16th  century  estab- 
lished that  sect,  which  eventually 
rose  to  warlike  predominance  in 
the  Punjab,  and  from  which 
sprung  Ranjat  Singh,  the  founder 
of  the  brief  kingdom  of  Lahore. 

A  Hindustani  corruption  of  the 
word  "champagne." 

The  tree  Acacia,  a  timber  tree  of 
moderate  size,  beot  known  in  the 
Upper  Provinces. 

A  Hindu  god,  the  Destroyer  and 
Reproducer,  the  third  person  in 
the  Hindu  triad. 

A  cantonment  and  hill  sanitarium 
in  the  Punjab,  near  Simla. 

The  chief  native  officer  of  a  com- 
pany of  Sepoys. 

The  well-known  name  of  the  tract 
of  intersecting  creeks  and  chan- 
nels, swampy  islands  and  jungles 
which  constitute  that  part  of  the 
Ganges  Delta  nearest  the  sea. 

One  of  the  principal  rivers  of  India. 

The  rite  of  widow-burning. 


A  graceful,  feather-like  shrub ;  is 
covered  with  numberless  little 
spikes  of  small  pink  flowers  when 
in  blossom. 

TATIA  THE  BHIL,  A  well-known  dacoit  of  the  Central 
Provinces. 

TARA  DEVI,  .  One  of  the  Himalaya  mountain 
peaks,  near  Simla, 

THAG,  ....    A  highway  robber,  garotter. 


GLOSSARY. 


247 


THANA,     ...    A  police  station. 

THAKUR,       .     .    A  chief  (among  Rajputs). 

THERMANTIDOTE  (heat-antidote),  A  sort  of  winnow- 
ing machine  fitted  to  a  window 
aperture,  and  incased  in  wet  t(at- 
ties  so  as  to  drive  a  current  of 
cooled  air  into  a  house  during 
hot  dry  weather  (tatties  are 
screens  or  mats  made  of  the  roots 
of  a  fragrant  grass). 

TONGA,  ...  A  two-wheeled  car  drawn  by  two 
ponies  curricle  fashion,  used  for 
travelling  in  the  hills. 

TONK,  ....    A  state  and  city  in  Rdjputana. 

"TRICHI,"  .  .  A  contraction  of  Trichinopoly,  a 
place  on  the  S.  E.  coast  of  Hindu- 
stan, noted  for  its  cigars — hence 
"  Trichi "  denotes  a  Trichinopoly 
cigar. 
A  sabre,  used  by  the  Sikhs. 


TULWAR,  . 
UMBALLA, 


WAHABIS,     . 
WALER,   .    . 

YABU,  .    .    . 

YUSUFZAIES, 

ZENANA,  .    . 


A  city  and  cantonment  of  the 
Umballa  district,  Punjab.  For- 
merly the  nearest  station  on  the 
railway  to  Simla. 

A  fanatical  Mahommedan  sect  in 

South  Arcot. 
Horses  imported  from  New  South 

Wales  are  called  "  Walers." 

A  class  of  small  hardy  horse  which 
comes  from  the  highland  country 
of  Kandahar  and  Cabul. 

Pathan  tribe  in  Afghanistan. 

The  apartments  of  a  house  in  which 
the  women  of  the  family  are 
secluded. 


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the  ground  in  his  own  peculiar  and  happy  style 
for  his  own  children's  use.  When  the  work 
was  published  its  success  was  instantaneous. 

Black  Beauty  :  The  Autobiography  of  a  Horse. 
By  Anna  Sewell,  with  50  illustrations.  This 
work  is  to  the  animal  kingdom  what  ' '  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin  "  was  to  the  Afro-American. 

The  Arabian  Nights  Entertainments.  With 
130  illustrations.  Contains  the  most  favorably 
known  of  the  stories. 

Grimm's  Fairy  Tales.  With  55  illustrations. 
The  tales  are  a  wonderful  collection,  as  in- 
teresting, from  a  literary  point  of  view,  as  they 
are  delightful  as  stories. 

Flower  Fables.  By  Louisa  May  Alcott.  With 
numerous  illustrations,  full-page  and  text. 

A  series  of  very  interesting  fairy  tales  by  the 
most  charming  of  American  story-tellers. 

Andersen's  Fairy  Tales.  By  Hans  Christian 
Andersen.  With  77  illustrations. 

These  wonderful  tales  are  not  only  attractive 
to  the  young,  but  equally  acceptable  to  those 
of  mature  years. 


Altemus'  Young  Peoples'  Library.— Continued. 

Grandfather's  Chair;  A  History  for  Youth.     By 

Nathaniel  Hawthorne.  With  60  illustrations. 
The  story  of  America  from  the  landing  of  the 
Puritans  to  the  acknowledgment  without  re- 
serve of  the  Independence  of  the  United  States. 

Aunt  Martha's  Corner  Cupboard.  By  Mary  and 
Elizabeth  Kirby,  with  60  illustrations.  Stories 
about  Tea,  Coffee,  Sugar,  Rice  and  Chinaware, 
and  other  accessories  of  the  well-kept  Cupboard. 

Battles  of  the  War  for  Independence.  By 
Prescott  Holmes,  with  70  illustrations.  A 
graphic  and  full  history  of  the  Rebellion  of  the 
American  Colonies  from  the  yoke  and  oppres- 
sion of  England.  Including  also  an  account  of 
the  second  war  with  Great  Britain,  and  the 
War  with  Mexico. 

Battles  of  the  War  for  the  Union.  By  Prescott 
Holmes,  with  80  illustrations.  A  correct  and 
impartial  account  of  the  greatest  civil  war  in 
the  annals  of  history.  Both  of  these  histories 
of  American  wars  are  anecessary  part  of  the  edu- 
cation of  all  intelligent  American  boys  and  girls. 

Water  Babies.  By  Charles  Kingsley,  with  84 
illustrations.  A  charming  fairy  tale. 

Young  People's  History  of  the  War  with  Spain. 
By  Prescott  Holmes,  with  86  illustrations.  The 
story  of  the  war  for  the  freedom  of  Cuba, 
arranged  for  young  readers. 

Heroes  of  the  United  States  Navy.  By  Hart- 
well  James,  with  65  illustrations.  From  the 
days  of  the  Revolution  until  the  end  of  the 
War  with  Spain. 

Military  Heroes  of  the  United  States.  By 
Hartwell  James,  with  nearly  100  illustrations. 
Their  brave  deeds  from  Lexington  to  Santiago, 
told  in  a  captivating  manner. 

Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.  By  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe, 
with  50  illustrations.  Arranged  for  young 
readers. 

Sea  Kings  and  Naval  Heroes.  By  Hartwell 
James,  with  50  illustrations. 


Altemus*  Illustrated  Editions. 


ABBOTT'S  HISTORICAL  SERIES. 

PRICE,  50  CENTS  EACH. 

A  well-known  and  popular  series  rf  biographical  histories, 
by  JACOB  ABBOTT,  containing  the  lives  and  deeds  of  foun  ers 
of  Empires,  Her  es  and  Heroines  of  History,  Kings,  Queens 
and  Conquerors. 

Handsomely  printed  from  large,  clear  type,  on  extra-fine 
super-calendered  paper  and  embellished  with  half-tone 
frontispieces,  numerous  full-page  and  text  illustrations  and 
maps 

...  i  Romulus,  the  Founder  of  Rome.    With  49 

illustrations. 
...  2  Cyrus    the    Great,    the    Founder    of   the 

Persian  Empire.     With  40  illustrations. 
...  3  Darius  the  Great,  King  of  the  Medes  and 

Persian.     With  34  illustrations. 
...  4  Xerxes  the  Great,  King  of  Persia.     With 

39  illustrations. 
...  5  Alexander   the   Great,  King  of  Macedon. 

With  51  illustrations. 

...  6  Pyrrhus,  King  of    Epirus.     With  45  illus- 
trations. 

...  7  Hannibal,  the  Carthaginian.     With  37  illus- 
trations. 
...  S  Julius    Caesar,  the   Roman    Conqueror. 

With  44  illustrations. 
...  9  Alfred  the  Great,   of  England.    With  40 

illustrations. 
...10  William  the  Conqueror,  of  England.  With 

43  illustrations. 
...ii  Hernando    Cortez,  the    Conqueror   of 

Mexico.     With  30  illustrations. 
...12  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots.  With  45  illustrations. 
...13  Queen    Elizabeth,    of    England.    With  49 

illustrations. 
...14  King  Charles  thefFirst,  of  England.    With 

41  illustrations. 
...15  King   Charles    the  Second,    of    England. 

With  38  illustrations. 
...16  Maria  Antoinette,  Queen  of  France.    With 

41  illustrations. 


Altemus'  Illustrated  Editions.— Continued. 

...17  Madam  Roland,  A  Heroine  of  the  French 

Revolution.    With  42  illustrations. 
...iS  Josephine,  Empress  of  France.    With  40 

illustrations. 


ALTEMUS*  DAINTY  SERIES  OF 
CHOICE  GIFT  BOOKS. 

PRICE,  SO  CENTS. 

Bound  in  half-white  Vellum,  illuminated  sides, 
unique  design  in  gold,  with  numerous  half-tone 
illustrations.  Size,  6^x8  inches. 

...  I  The  Silver  Buckle.    By  M.  Nataline  Crump- 
ton.     With  12  illustrations. 
...  2  Charles  Dickens'  Children  Stories.     With 

30  illustrations. 
...  3  The   Children's  Shakespeare.      With    30 

illustrations. 
...  4  Young  Robin  Hood.     By  G.  Manville  Fenn. 

With  30  illustrations. 
...  5  Honor  Bright.     By  Mary  C.  Rowsell.     With 

24  illustrations. 
...  6  The  Voyage  of  the  Mary  Adair.  By  Frances 

E.  Crompton.     With  19  illustrations. 
...  7  The  Kingffsher's  Egg.    By  I/.   T.  Meade. 

With  24  illustrations. 

...  8  Tattine.     By  Ruth  Ogden.      With  24  illus- 
trations. 
...  9  The  Doings  of  a  Dear  Little  Couple.    By 

Mary  D.  Brine.    With  20  illustrations. 
...10  Our  Soldier  Boy.     By  G.   Manville   Fenn. 

With  23  illustrations. 
...II  The  Little  Skipper.    By  G.  Manville  Fenn. 

With  22  illustrations. 
...12  Little  Qervaise  and  other  Stories.    With 

22  illustrations. 
...13  The  Christmas    Fairy.    By  John  Strange 

Winter.     With  24  illustrations. 


ILLUSTRATED  DEVOTIONAL  SERIES 


An  entirely  new  line  of  popular  Religious  Litera- 
ture, carefully  printed  on  fine  paper,  daintily  and 
durably  bound  in  bandy  volume  size. 

Full  White  Vellum,  handsome  new  mosaic  design 
in  gold  and  colors,  gold  edges,  boxed,  50  cents. 

...  i  Abide  in  Christ.     Murray. 

...  3  Beecher's  Addresses. 

...  4  Best  Thoughts.    From  Henry  Drumtnond. 

...  5  Bible  Birthday  Book. 

...  6  Brooks'  Addresses. 

...  7  Buy  Your  Own  Cherries,    Kirton. 

...  8  Changed  Cross,  The. 

...  9  Christian  Life.     Oxenden. 

...10  Christian  Living.    Meyer. 

...12  Christie's  Old  Organ.     Walton. 

...13  Coming  to  Christ.    Havergal. 

...14  Daily  Food  for  Christians. 

...15  Day  Breaketh,  The.    Shugert. 

...17  Drummond's  Addresses. 

...i 8  Evening  Thoughts.    Havergal. 

...19  Gold  Dust. 

...20  Holy  in  Christ. 

...21  Imitation  of  Christ,  The.    A'Kempis. 

...22  Impregnable  Rock  of  Holy  Scripture. 

Gladstone. 

...23  Jessica's  First  Prayer*    Stretton. 
...24  John   Ploughman's   Pictures.     Spurgeon. 
...25  John  Ploughman's  Talk.     Spurgeon. 
...26  Kept  for  the  Master's  Use.    Havergal. 
...27  Keble's  Christian  Year. 
...28  Let  Us  Follow  Him.     Sienkiewicz. 
...29  Like  Christ.    Murray. 
...30  Line  Upon  Line. 
...31  Manliness  of  Christ,  The.     Hughes. 


Henry  Alternus'  Publications. 


...32  Message  of  Peace,  The.     Church, 
...33  Morning  Thoughts.    Havergal. 
...34  My  King  and  His  Service.    Havergal. 
...35  Natural  Law  in  the  Spiritual  World. 

Drummond. 
...37  Pathway  or  Promise. 

...38  Pathway  of  Safety.     Oxenden. 

...39  Peep  of  Day. 

...40  Pilgrim's  Progress,  The.    Bunyan. 

...41  Precept  Upon  Precept. 

...42  Prince  of  the  House  of  David.    Ingraham. 

...44  Shepherd  Psalm.    Meyer. 

...45  Steps  Into  the  Blessed  Life.     Meyer. 

...46  Stepping  Heavenward.     Prentiss. 

...47  The  Throne  of  Grace. 

...50  With  Christ.    Murray. 

The  Rise  of  the  Dutch  Republic  (a  History).  By  John  Loth- 
rop  Motley.  55  full-page  half-tone  Engravings.  Complete  in 
two  volumes — over  1,600  pages.  Crown  8vo.  Cloth,  per  set, 
$2.00.  Half  Morocco,  gilt  top,  per  set,  $3  25. 

Quo  Vadis.  A  tale  of  the  time  of  Nero,  by  Henryk  Sienkiewicz. 
Complete  and  unabridged.  Translated  by  Dr.  S.  A.  Binion. 
Illustrated  by  M.  De  Lipman.  Crown  8vo.  Cloth,  ornamen- 
tal, 515  pages,  51.25. 

With  Fire  and  Sword.  By  the  author  ot  "Quo  Vadis."  A 
tale  of  the  past.  Illustrated.  Crown  8vo.  825  pages,  $1.00. 

Pan  Michael.  By  the  author  of  "  Quo  Vadis."  A  historical 
tale.  Illustrated.  Crown  8vo.  530  pages,  Ji.oo. 

Julian,  the  Apostate.  By  S.  Mereshkovski.  Illustrated.  Cloth 
izmo.  450  pages,  $1.00. 

Manual  of  riythology.  For  the  use  of  Schools,  Art  Students, 
and  General  Readers,  by  Alexander  S.  Murray.  With  Notes, 
Revisions,  and  Additions  by  William  H.  Klapp.  With  200 
illustrations  and  an  exhaustive  Index.  Large  i2mo.  Over 
400  pages,  $i .25. 

The  Age  of  Fable;  or  Beauties  of  Mythology.  By  Thomas 
Bulfinch,  with  Notes,  Revisions,  and  Additions  by  William  H. 
Klapp.  With  200  illustrations  and  an  exhaustive  Index.  Large 
I2mo.  450  pages,  $1.25. 

Stephen.  A  Soldier  of  the  Cross.  By  Florence  Morse 
Kingsley,  author  of  "  Titus,  a  Comrade  of  the  Cross."  Cloth, 
121110.  369  pages,  $1.00. 


Henry  Altemus'  Publications. 


The  Cross  Triumphant.  By  Florence  Morse  Kingsley,  author 
of  "  Paul  and  Stephen."  Cloth,  I2mo.  364  pages,  $1.00. 

Paul.  A  Herald  of  the  Cro*s.  By  Florence  Morse  Kingsley. 
Cloth,  i2mo.  450  pages,  $1.00. 

The  Pilgrim's  Progress,  as  John  Bunyan  wrote  it.  A  fac- 
simile reproduction  of  the  first  edition,  published  in  1678. 
Antique  cloth,  I2mo.  $1.25. 

The  Fairest  of  the  Fair.  By  Hildegarde  Hawthorne.  Cloth, 
i6tno.  $1.25. 

Around  the  World  In  Eighty  Minutes.  Contains  over  too 
photographs  of  the  most  famous  places  and  edifices,  with  des- 
criptive text.  Cloth,  50  cents. 

Shakespeare's  Complete  Works.  With  64  Boydell,  and 
numerous  other  illustrations,  four  volumes,  over  2,000  pages. 
Half  Morocco,  121110.  Boxed,  per  set.  $3.00. 

The  Care  of  Children.  By  Elizabeth  R.  Scovil.  Cloth,  i2mo. 
$1.00 

Preparation  for  Motherhood.  By  Elizabeth  R.  Scovil.  Cloth, 
I2mo.  320  pages,  $1.00. 

Baby's  Requirements.  By  Elizabeth  R.  Scovil.  Limp  bind- 
ing, leatherette.  25  cents. 

Names  for  Children.  By  Elizabeth  Robimson  Scovil.  Cloth, 
I2mo.  40  cents. 

Trif  and  Trixy.  By  John  Habberton,  author  of  "  Helen's 
Babies."  Cloth,  i2mo.  50  cents. 

She  Who  Will  Not  When  She  May.  By  Eleanor  G.  Walton. 
Half-tone  illustrations  by  C.  P.  M.  Rumford.  "An  exquisite 
prose  idyll."  Cloth,  gilt  top,  deckle  edges.  $1.00. 

A  Son  of  the  Carolinas.  By  C.  E.  Satterthwaite.  Cloth, 
iimo.  280  pages,  50  cents. 

What  Women  Should  Know.  By  Mr§.  E.  B.  Duffy.  Cloth, 
320  pages,  75  cents. 

Dore  Masterpieces. 

The  Dore  Bible  Gallery.  Containing  100  full-page  engravings 
by  Gustave  Dore. 

Milton's  Paradise  Lost.  With  50  full-pag*  engravings  by  Gus- 
tave Dore. 

Dante'0  Inferno.  With  75  full-page  oagraviags  by  Gustave 
Dore. 

Dante's  Purgatory  and  Paradls*.  With  60  full-page  engrav- 
ings by  Gustave  Dore. 

Tennyson's  Idylls  of  the  King.  With  37  full-page  engravings 
by  Gustave  Dore. 

The    Rime    of    the    Ancient    flariner.      By  Samuel  Taylor 
Coleridge,  with  46  full-page  engravingt  by  Gustave  Dore. 
Cloth,  ornamental,  large  quarto  (9  x  12).     Each  ga.oo. 


I — — 

ALTEMUS'  EDITION  SHAKESPEARE'S  PLAYS. 
HANDY  VOLUME  SIZE. 

With  a  historical  and  critical  introduction  to  each 
volume,  by  Professor  Henry  Morley. 


Limp  cloth  binding,  gold  top,  illuminated  title 

and  frontispiece 35  cts. 

Paste-gram  roan,  flexible,  gold  top    .    .    .50  cts. 

1.  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well. 

2.  Antony  and  Cleopatra. 

3.  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream. 

4.  A*  You  Like  It. 

5.  Comedy  of  Errors. 

6.  Coriolanus. 

7.  Cymbeline. 

8.  Hamlet. 

9.  Julius  Caesar. 

10.  .  King  Henry  IV.    (Part  I.) 

11.  King  Henry  IV.    (Part  II.) 
12  King  Henry  V. 

13.  King  Henry  VI.    (Part  I.) 

14-  King  Henry  VI.    (Part  II.) 

15.  King  Henry  VI.    (Part  III.; 

16.  King  Henry  VIII. 

17.  King  John.  . 

18.  King  Lear. 

19.  King  Richard  II. 

20.  King  Richard  III. 

21.  Love's  Labour's  Lost. 
32.  Macbeth. 

23.  Measure  for  Measure. 

24.  Much  Ado  About  Nothing:. 

25.  Othello. 

26.  Pericles. 

27.  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

28.  The  Merchant  cf  Venice. 

29.  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor. 

30.  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew. 

31.  The  Tempest. 

32.  The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona. 

33.  The  Winter's  Tale. 

34.  Titnon  of  Athens. 

35.  Titus  Andronicus. 

36.  Troilus  and  Cressida. 

37.  Twelfth  Night. 

38.  Venus  and  Adonis  and  Lucrece. 

39.  Sonnets,  Passionate  Pilgrim,  Etc. 


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